Our Lost Kingdoms
by Yaddie
Summary: When the RED Team is sent to capture a tropical plantation, their mission goes horribly awry. Divided into smaller groups, they discover there is more at stake here than a victory over their BLU counterparts.
1. Prologue: A Death in the Clan

( _Author's note: First off, I'd like to thank my beta reader- D.F. 38- for helping me make this make sense. I'd also like to thank my perennial moral support for being supportive, and offering a _second_ second opinion, even though we both know a lot of ours are pretty similar._

_There were several inspirations for this story. As far as the environments and settings are concerned, I mostly drew from my experiences during a week-long vacation in the tiny nation of Grenada. I'm not a wealthy person, so it was probably the first and last time I'll ever visit the Caribbean, and let me tell you that for an inhabitant of the Great White North, waking up on a January morning to a warm breeze and the sound of birds is like finding yourself in a dream. In the experiences that some of the team have over the course of their adventure, most of which takes place on an unnamed Caribbean island, I hope to share some of that dreamlike atmosphere with you._

**Important note:** This is technically a continuation of my last fanfic, "Put a Spell on You". I wouldn't say reading that story is 100% necessary for understanding this one, but the character dynamic here is a continuation of relationships and scenarios depicted in "Put a Spell on You". So to clarify: the main plot of this story is not a continuation of any previous story. The friendships, rivalries, and some incidents mentioned in relation to them** are** related to things described in "Put a Spell on You". I may add to this story at some future date to clarify these things.

Additional note/warning/hook for people who are into such things: **The main focus of this story is not Gay Romance/Slash, but there are references to it and scenes involving it, so if you hate that stuff, consider yourself warned. **)

* * *

In the hour before dawn, Tavish DeGroot found himself seized by a strange sense of foreboding. His drinking habits had left him no stranger to weird and irrational impulses, but as he stared up from his bed and watched the room become gradually lighter, he felt certain that this had nothing to do with cheap liquor. There was a bottle on the nightstand which seemed to beckon to him, and he frowned, reaching for it one moment, lowering his hand the next. He didn't drink to calm his nerves. This situation called for cigarettes.

Still unsure what was nagging him, the RED Demoman wandered up to the ramparts and smoked while the day crept ever closer. The crew he worked with was shipping out in a few hours for God-knows-where, but traveling had never made him nervous. Nor had new places, new missions, or a lot of other potentially dangerous things. (This has happened before, hasn't it?) he thought, still frowning. He didn't understand it the last time, either; it was just a chill that seemed to gnaw at the very core of his being, nothing clearer than that. With a weary sigh, he flicked his cigarette butt away and rubbed his good eye. The sense of anxiety would fade, soon. It always had before.

* * *

While Tavish was brooding, another Demoman was cursing the sun, which had already risen on the distant island where he had been stationed not long ago. The rainforest was pissing wet at any hour, but he'd had an easier time keeping hidden during the night. Now it was hot, and his pursuer would be even harder to dodge.

"Th' heat is bleedin' unbearable," he muttered, tugging at the collar of his jumpsuit. It was probably still red beneath his armor, but every inch of the fabric that he could see had been plastered with foliage or mud. It hadn't been his intent when he set out into the jungle, but in retrospect, a clean uniform would have made him much more obvious. (It won't help you now, lad, you're losing this chase.)

A moment later, the Demoman grinned ruefully. (no, fuck that. It's not over until someone's been blasted to bits. If it's going to be you, you'd better go down fighting... Give the bastards something to remember you by.) He had run out of fragmentation grenades a few hours ago, and had no chance of restocking now. But there were still some sticky bombs left in his launcher. These would have to count, if he wanted to make it out alive.

He wondered who he was trying to fool with that thought, then pushed it aside. It was time to work. The sound of something crashing through the undergrowth caught his attention, and for a moment, he found himself hoping it was an animal- but the only large predators here were the two-legged kind, and the Demoman knew this one wouldn't fall into any of the traps that were already laid along the path. After all, they had set them together. "oh, you're in for a surprise," he hissed, and planted two of the stickies under a nearby bush. Knowing the places his pursuer would avoid, the Scotsman placed more bombs carefully, backing his way down the partly overgrown trail.

"you are dead, you treacherous son of a bitch! You just don't know it yet!"

The Demoman grimaced at the barking voice that could be heard through the trees. Sound helped him gauge the distance between them, though; when the crashing footsteps seemed near enough, he set off the first trap, and was rewarded with a ragged yelp of pain. Resisting the urge to taunt the enemy, he bided his time until the crashing and shouting resumed, and triggered the next clump of explosives as the noise grew closer. He could see the other mercenary now, staggering from the injuries he had just inflicted, but still on the approach.

(That was too soon. Shit! Maybe you'd be better off moving up on him. Luring him in. Then you can end this for good.) There was a time when he wouldn't have hesitated to blow himself up if he could take someone with him, but it wasn't an option anymore. Not a good one. Instead, he held stock still and watched the Soldier, who was moving a lot more slowly than before. The dense foliage obscured his view, but he was crossing his fingers, hoping the other man would just bleed out and die.

He only realized what was really happening when it was too late to do much about it. A brief glimpse of the Soldier's eyes gave it away; the man had spotted the last pair of sticky bombs, and was pulling out his rocket launcher to destroy them. Feeling suddenly and terribly unsure just how close the explosion would be, the Demoman steeled himself, then turned and sprinted.

A guttering explosion shook the trees behind him as he ran. He mentally prepared himself for the possibility the Soldier was still alive, but in the quiet that followed, it seemed the rocket might have finished that crazy bastard off. When he spotted an overgrown building ahead, the Demoman suddenly felt a spark of hope in his chest- this was one they had refurbished for storage, and there was a chance he might find ammunition inside. (Or something to drink. Even a tepid canteen of water would be good right now.)

The shed was disappointingly barren, aside from some smashed crates. He kicked a jagged board angrily, then sighed, cradling his empty sticky-launcher. (Still, it's been quiet out there a while. Maybe you've caught a break after all. When you're bloody sure you're up to it, you can sneak back to the base and finish off that little backstabber. Then... then, this fucking tropical death-trap won't see your backside for dust.)

He had just finished that thought when-Crack! A shotgun startled him, and sprayed his occipital lobe across the ceiling. The Soldier watched as he toppled to his knees, then fell face-down on the floor. As his body started to cool, the other man crouched at his side and continued glaring at him.

Grabbing a handful of the dead man's sleeve, the Soldier drew a buck knife from his pocket and snapped it open, then hacked off his team-mate's insignia. When he spoke again, his voice was low and tinged with regret. "I didn't want it to come to this, private, but you left me no choice. TRYING TO CONTACT THE COMPANY? You KNEW what the stakes were, WHEN WE STARTED THIS OPERATION! AND NOW..!"

Scowling, he rose to his feet and heaved a sigh, then turned away from the corpse and began to leave. "...now, we're one man shorter. You're a disgrace to this unit, you bastard..." He studied at the emblem in his hand for a long moment, rubbing the disappointment from his eyes. Then he tossed the scrap of fabric on the ground, and slowly walked away.


	2. Waiting for a Mission

(_ Author's note: The island nation where our heroes' mission control/hotel is situated, and the unnamed island where their mission takes place, are somewhere in the Lesser Antilles. It is a volcanic region of lush, hilly islands like Grenada and St. Lucia, where forested peaks capture clouds throughout the day, and brief downpours are a daily occurrence in the drier lowlands and valleys. Tourism is a major industry in this part of the world, in the 1960's and today._

_The tonic water used in drink mixing contains some amount of quinine, a bitter substance derived from the bark of the Cinchona tree. This bark was long used by Quechua natives as an anti-malarial agent, and the transmission of this knowledge to Europeans was a boon at a time when no other effective treatment was known._ )

* * *

A bucket of ice sat on the rickety table, beside a tumbler emblazoned with beach umbrellas, an overflowing ashtray, and two diminishing bottles- one of tonic water, one of Tanqueray. Reaching over unsteadily with a long, tanned arm, the RED Sniper scooped out some ice with the glass, then filled it with a lot more gin than tonic. Even before the mix could be chilled, he was pounding it back, grimacing slightly at the taste of warm liquor.

"Bleedin' mozzies," he growled.

The tropical heat had eased off since sunset, but as he lounged on the balcony of his shabby hotel room and watched the city lights spread out below him, he was not in a good mood. He could have drawn up a list of things that were pissing him off right now, but at that very moment, it was the mosquitoes. The dossier on the RED team's upcoming mission hadn't mentioned a risk of malaria in this part of the Caribbean, but after his near-death experience in Bali some years ago, the Australian was feeling paranoid. Medic had chidingly informed him there wasn't enough quinine in regular tonic water to prevent the disease, but that wasn't going to stop him from spending the evening like this.

Sniper slapped at a mosquito, and missed. He put his glass down so he'd have both hands free for dealing with the next one, but forgot about the insects when there was a knock at the room's door. Turning to look back over his shoulder, he bawled, "jus' open the bloody thing, it's not locked!"

Scout entered the room and made his way over to the balcony, scrambling across the two double beds like a little kid. "Teach me ta remember my fuckin' manners," he drawled, rolled his eyes and leaned against one of the open french doors.

Sniper looked blearily over the rim of his aviators, frowning at the younger man. He straightened up a little in his seat, picking a half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray and reviving it with a silver lighter that lay nearby. The red spy's lighter. ""n case you 'aven't noticed, scout, I'm tryin' ta get pissed right now. What the hell d'you want?"

"Geeze, y'know what? This is why everyone thinks you're a fuckin' asshole, man. I come all the way here ta ask you out for some-" Scout drew some twirls in the air with his index finger, "-healthy social interaction with other human beings, and you act like I'm bein' a horrible fuckin' pain in your ass or somethin'. Seriously, what's your major malfunction?"

"Ask me for what?" The humid evening air and the booze were conspiring to make Sniper's head throb painfully. He might have debated Scout's assertions about his behaviour, but speaking clearly took too much effort right now.

Scout gestured towards the scintillating town below. "A bunch of us are gonna go out and get fuck drunk or watch fire-eaters or, I dunno, some crazy fuckin' thing. Whatever people do for kicks around here. We're in the motherfuckin' tropics, man! You really wanna' spend the night alone, moping over a bottle of that bad-tasting crap?"

It was Sniper's turn to roll his eyes. "This ain't the first time I've spent a night in some shitty equatorial backwater, mate. ...anyhow, I'm not bloody moping. Just wanna be unconscious by the time my fuckin' roommate turns up."

The American glanced over his shoulder at the room, and spotted a neat leather attach case on the bed by the door. There was only one member of the team who carried that in place of a rucksack or a trunk, when they were traveling. "Oh... You got stuck with lame bond, huh?"

Sniper grunted, and blew a jet of smoke from his nose. Scout shrugged, and headed for the door. "Suit yourself, chucklenuts. I'll bring back one of them teeny cocktail umbrellas for you, how about that?"

In spite of himself, the sharpshooter chuckled a little. "Right, then. ...'ave fun out there."

"Fuckin' a," scout said, grinning, then left sniper to himself.

* * *

Hours later, Sniper stirred as a cool night breeze wafted over him, cooling his sweat-slicked body and prompting him to tug his shirt closed. He was still slouched in his wicker armchair, and before his eyes had opened he was already reaching for the ice bucket. Something about its weight was a little funny, but he only realized the contents had melted when he fumbled with it and splashed himself.

"Gah! Oh, f'God's sakes... bah, fuggit. Don't need ice." Sniper set to work pouring himself a warm gin and tonic, and had already half-drained his glass before he noticed he had company on the balcony.

The RED team's Spy sat on the other side of the table, smoking and reading some papers by the dim light of a wall sconce. He didn't look up, but cleared his throat a bit and spoke. "I see you are awake, Mssr. Mundy. You didn't want to enjoy ze local night-life with ze others?" Sniper grumbled into his tumbler, and chugged the rest of the liquor. Spy sniffed distastefully. "We could be called out into ze field as soon as morning, you know. You and I. 'ow will you be able to perform with a damned 'angover?"

"...'s gonna' take a couple hours t'ride out, ain't it? Tha's... Nngh, sleep it off on't way... Dunno how t'pilot a bloody helicopter, anyway... 'F it were a bush plane, sure, but..." Sniper let his glasses fall into his lap, and rubbed his eyes for a moment, feeling very much like he wanted to shove the bucket over Spy's head and throw him from the balcony. It wouldn't be the first time he'd tossed spy from a high place. With the nearest respawn machine being hundreds of miles away, though, killing him right now would delay the whole operation. Sniper groaned irritably and abandoned the idea.

Spy finally looked across the table, nonplussed. Sniper knew the chameleon was still infatuated with him, even after that brawl they'd gotten into, but Spy didn't have any patience for him when he was drunk- not when there was nothing Spy was trying to get out of him, anyhow. "Just go to bed, mon chou, and I will worry about ze task ahead of us."

Although tempted to just keep on drinking, fatigue and alcohol were grinding Sniper like a millstone, crushing his urge to be defiant, or really do anything that didn't involve assuming a horizontal position as soon as possible. With very deliberate movements, he dropped his glasses on the table, then rose from his chair and groped along the wall for support until he could reach a bed. The Australian toppled over and began snoring almost immediately, his gangly limbs half-draped off the edge of the mattress.

* * *

Sniper awoke to a whole new world of discomfort. As he winced in the morning light and groggily assessed the situation, one desperate feeling seemed to overshadow all the others, even the thundering headache and stomach-clenching nausea of his severe dehydration. Averting his eyes from the dazzling scenery outside the balcony doors, he clambered to an upright position, then trudged to the dismal little bathroom alcove and unzipped his fly. The peace of mind that came with relieving himself afforded Sniper the chance to meditate on his situation.

(Nobody came to kick me out of bed, that means we're not heading off just yet.) By "we", he meant himself and Spy. They were slotted for the first ride out to the mission site, where they were supposed to secure a staging area for the others. As much as he loathed to be paired off with Spy, Sniper couldn't deny that they were best suited for the job. Both men were experts at keeping a low profile, and between his survival experience and Spy's unique talents, they were the ideal men to infiltrate a jungle area and neutralize any immediate threats. (Would've liked more intel on this plantation we're gonna capture,) he thought ruefully. The file had mentioned plenty about the region's rich history, but had neglected to mention the strategic value of the old estate, or even how long the BLU company had been in the area. (It's a bloody banana farm that's been derelict for years, on an island that's far from anything remotely resembling human civilization. I suppose I shouldn't expect there to be anything more to it than another pissing contest for our employers, but this is too dodgy for my taste. The whole place could be booby-trapped by now, and if any one of us gets offed by those bastards, he'll be out of the game for days.)

He slouched against the wall and flushed the toilet, drowning out the sound of the room's door opening. Still brooding about the task ahead, Sniper turned and found himself looking at the sink; as he reached to turn on the water, a sing-song voice startled him.

"Bonjour, sunshine! I 'ear you are finally awake?"

Sniper flinched in surprise, jerking the tap wide open and soaking his shirtfront with the backsplash. "Jesus Christ, do ya hafta sneak up on me like that?" He snarled, fumbling at the sink.

The Frenchman sounded vaguely amused. "oh, don't raise a fuss just because you're a little slow zis morning. I brought you something."

When he emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, Sniper had his best irritable glare prepared for Spy, and was surprised when he found a mug of coffee thrust at him. He took hold of it and blinked stupidly, then mumbled, "...was kinda' expecting a prank or something..."

Spy wrinkled his nose, and sat down to study the dossier again. "is it so 'ard to say a word of gratitude? We are leaving in two hours, so drink zat and get yourself together. Zere is much work ahead of us."

"R- right, I'll get changed. ...er, thanks." It occurred to Sniper that this would be a bad time for spy to slip him anything, aside from pain-killers or amphetamines. He slumped down on his bed and started on the coffee, only looking up when he heard a knock at the door. "c'mon in," sniper said roughly, feeling too lethargic to get up and open it himself.

Spy, on the other hand, did rise to open the door, then stepped back nervously when he saw who was there. It was Engineer, carrying a mug of coffee in each hand.

Sniper brightened up at the sight of the Texan, despite the pain that was rampaging inside of his skull. "G'morning, mate! 'ere, come sit by me." He patted the space beside him on the mattress, feeling infinitely grateful for Engineer's friendship.

Engineer gave Spy a chilly look through his goggles, then ambled over to where Sniper was seated and set one of the mugs down, before settling himself beside the taller man. "Howdy, Stretch. I missed ya last night. A little birdie told me you were busy drinkin' yourself stupid in here."

"...you know how I am sometimes. I just wasn t in th' mood for anyone's drunken bullshit but my own. Saved you the trouble of draggin' me back here, didn't I?" Sniper sighed into the coffee from Spy, then put an arm around Engineer's shoulder and squeezed him, managing a weak grin. "Besides, I'd be worse off now if I 'ad Demoman to encourage me."

"Guess I had enough to deal with," Engineer said wearily, resting his head on the Australian's collarbone and reaching for the ashtray on the nightstand. He was looking a little peaked himself, and Sniper suspected he'd done his own share of drinking the night before.

A pang of guilt jabbed at Sniper's chest, and he tried to ignore it for a moment, before deciding to just handle it in his own way. He drained his first mug, then pushed it away and fished two cigarettes from his pocket. A book of matches in the ashtray provided a light, and Sniper passed one of the smokes to his friend. "...there ya go, Truckie. Always helps me get my strength back."

Engineer seemed to relax as he smoked, and eventually smiled up at the marksman. Spy's presence in the room didn't stop the small displays of affection between them; paradoxically, the rogue was the only member of the team that they weren't hiding their relationship from. Sniper wondered if this was the Texan's own way of gloating at Spy, and was entertained by the thought.

Although tempted to lie down with Engineer and nap a while, Sniper knew he was better off psyching himself up for the mission. He found himself wishing for something stronger than caffeine. (Maybe one of those weird little pills the Doc' gave us, that one time. Those were bloody fantastic. ...shame we couldn't bring along more than basic supplies for this job.)

As he longed for Medic's stash of methamphetamines, Sniper stubbed out his cigarette and snuggled closer to Engineer. He was rewarded with a half-hearted shove from his friend, whose mouth creased in a bit of a smirk. "C'mon now, you got no time for foolin' around this morning. Yer shipping out first, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah... I was just bein' a pest, I know we're both too bloody hung-over to make it right now." Sniper grinned and brushed the back of his hand against Engineer's stubbly cheek, turning the bashful American's ears red.

From his own place on the other bed, Spy cleared his throat. "A word, gentlemen?"

Engineer grunted irritably. "Got two words for you, Frenchie, and they ain't 'happy day'." Sniper, on the other hand, just sighed and nodded at their team-mate.

Frowning, Spy set the file down and turned to face the others. "I realize we 'ave been in ze same cohort for quite some time, so I don't expect you to know anything zat I would not, but... zis plantation, 'ave either of you fought zere before? 'eard mention of it, even?"  
"Probably can't tell ya much more'n we learned at the briefing," Engineer said, sounding marginally less sour. "I know the island it's on is smack-dab in the middle of a devil's triangle."

Sniper suddenly perked up, his sharp eyes widening with intrigue. "Like that one off Bermuda? I read an article 'bout that in a magazine, real queer stuff. Said it might be foo-fighters makin' those ships vanish out there." As the other two stared at him in disbelief, he hastily added, "N-not that I believe everything I read. Just makes for an interesting story, y'know?"

Engineer chuckled. "Yeah, I've seen those magazines you read. Anyhow, Weird Tales aside, there's somethin' about the area that can make modern technology go strange. Wasn t a problem back when everyone was usin' sailboats, but when people started relyin' on radios and diesel engines to get around, they stopped bein' able to pass through there safely."

"What about ze 'elicopters we'll be using for transportation? Will zey be affected?" Spy was letting more tension show than he probably wanted to, although his concerns were legitimate. Engineer looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged helplessly.

"We'll hafta' find that out the hard way. Worst comes to worse, we'll just hafta give up on this outpost. ...can't say it'd be much of a loss, all things considered. But with the BLUs there, I reckon our employers want us takin' a crack at it."

"Ain't that just peachy." Sniper felt the urge to brood coming on, and ignored it best as he could. Having Engineer at his side made it easier, and after a moment he found himself feeling more devil-may-care about the situation. "Well, I knew I was in for this sort of nonsense when I signed up for the job. Even if we're bein' payed to fight a pointless war, we're still bein' paid."

Engineer sighed, then managed a wry smile. "Hell, Slim, you always make it sound so easy to swallow when you put it like that. I guess I'll just cross my fingers an' hope our machinery does its job."

"Yes, laborer, you just prepare your little machines for ze fight ahead. We will 'ave ze site ready by ze time you arrive, safe and sound." Spy's lips tightened around his cigarette, his usual smugness leaking through the polite exterior he'd been wearing recently. After patiently suffering Engineer's glares and snide remarks, he probably couldn't help himself.

The American snorted, frowning again, but didn't gratify Spy with a response. A knock at the door broke the awkward silence, and Sniper scrambled to his feet, trying his best to look cool and alert. He realized he was missing an important tool for perfecting his demeanor, and lunged for the balcony doors. "Be right there!" he exclaimed, before retrieving his aviators from where he'd left them the night before. As an afterthought, he grabbed the bottle of gin as well, and slipped it into his rucksack.

Before Spy had opened the door, Scout's voice was already clearly audible from the hallway. "The fuckin' call's just come in! You bums are shipping out, pronto! Get your crap together an' head to the lot out back, that's where they're pickin' you up!"

Spy sounded indignant. "Who's picking us up? When we were briefed, I was informed zat I would be piloting ze 'elicopter. Nobody informed me zere was a change in plans!"

"Maybe your license expired or somethin'? How the fuck am I supposed ta know, faggot? Just get your ass out there, the rest of us are gonna be waitin' on you guys!"

As Scout and Spy traded barbs, Sniper turned to face Engineer, his back to the others. He peered over his dark glasses and gave a reassuring smile, reaching down to bump his fist against the mechanic's shoulder. "See ya soon, Truckie. Scout's honor."

Engineer pried his goggles off, and gazed gently at the Australian. "I'll be countin' on that, Slim. Go on, give 'em hell out there."


	3. Drawing Fire

( _Author's note: The Bell UH-1 Iroquois is a multi-purpose American helicopter that was produced over a long period of the mid-to-late 20th century. It was used by the United States military during the Vietnam war, and featured prominently in the famous "Ride of the Valkyries" sequence of the movie,_ Apocalypse Now. _Its nickname "Huey" came from the helicopter's original designation HU-1._)

* * *

An hour later, Spy found himself studying the map of the island for the tenth or eleventh time. It was either that or watch the glittering ocean outside, which, beautiful as it was, had quickly become a boring sight. He turned his eyes to the front seat of their ride, which had turned out to be an UH-1 Iroquois, painted up with the RED company logo; piloting the Huey was an unremarkable man in a red jumpsuit, his face mostly hidden by a helmet and sunglasses. Sniper had called shotgun, and fallen asleep almost as soon as they were in the air, which left Spy the rest of the aircraft to mope around in.

Their destination was visible on the horizon, a mountainous green shape protruding from the vast ocean. According to the map, there was a clearing near the old plantation, which had once dominated much of the lowlands. Now much of that area was overgrown with dense jungle, leaving only a few places where they could touch down. The docks that once serviced the island had collapsed, and jagged reefs made the whole place too treacherous for a beach landing. (Given the speed with which they arranged this, I suppose helicopters are our safest option. An air drop might have been better than touching down, though. They've told us so fucking little about what's there, I don't know what to expect.) The absence of any parachutes in the chopper was gnawing at him.

He leaned over the front seat and yelled in Sniper's ear. "Wake up, you fool, we 'ave almost arrived!" Sniper's eyes opened abruptly, and he gave a yelp of surprise that was very satisfying to the masked man.

Sniper looked back and said something that was drowned out by the sound of the Huey. He seemed to realize this, and frowned before repeating himself at a greater volume. "Keep your bleedin' trousers on, I'm awake! Oi, how soon are we landing?"  
"E.T.A. twelve minutes!" The pilot answered, completely focused on the controls. "When this thing touches down, you'll have thirty seconds to get out and head for cover! I repeat, you'll have thirty seconds to vacate the aircraft when we reach the landing site! Don't dawdle!"  
The Australian's reply went unheard over the din, and he shouldered his rucksack, then set to work studying the island ahead. It appeared to grow rapidly as they approached, and something made Sniper's mouth twist into a grim, fanged snarl.

Spy narrowed his eyes. "What? What are you looking at down zere?"

Sniper's response wasn't reassuring. "Smoke! ...look there, in the trees! That's bloody wreckage, it is!" The ocean below them had been replaced by a sea of thick foliage, and amidst the trees hung the ruined husk of another helicopter. Its paint job was smoldering away, but a flash of light blue caught Spy's eye. To his left, their pilot was speaking into his headset.

"We have, uhh- we have confirmed visual contact with a downed enemy copter! ...unknown, I- I would estimate sometime in the last hour! ...also unknown! Too damaged to determine the cause! ...roger, proceeding to the landing zone!"

Although he maintained his frosty exterior, Spy could feel his guts tighten at this discovery. (I don't know about that devil triangle shit, but either something here caused that aircraft to fail... or it was shot down.) Neither possibility said good things about what was to come. As the clearing where they were to touchdown came into sight, a flash of light from among the trees caught his eye. In the split second it took him to realize what it was, Spy had reflexively huddled to the floor and dug his fingers into the seat back. "WE'RE UNDER FIRE!" he shouted, at the top of his lungs.

Then the world turned to chaos.

The Huey lurched violently as it was struck by a rocket barrage, which tore open the driver's side, and reduced the pilot to a bloody mess that coated much of the interior. Smoke filled the cockpit; as he watched Sniper scramble desperately for the controls, Spy noticed the seat was starting to burn. He also noticed that they were losing altitude at an unsettling rate. A voice sounded above the damaged helicopter's roar, Sniper's voice, and Spy took a moment to digest his words.

"GET READY TO BAIL OUT!" he had yelled.

Spy wanted to point out the lack of parachutes, but they were too close to the ground for a safe jump anyhow. Gripping a headrest with all his might, Spy wrenched the Huey's right-hand door open. As the clearing expanded alarmingly fast below them, a sudden onset of g-forces sent blinding pain through his legs, and he was sure his ankles were going to snap. Then the white light cleared from his eyes, and Spy realized that his teammate had managed to slow their descent. Just outside the open door, he could see the tops of tropical plants, flapping about in the powerful breeze. A bird of paradise flower bobbed before his eyes. Fighting every part of him that was trying to freeze up in panic, Spy clutched his attach case and jumped from the helicopter.

He discovered the ground was further down than he thought- about three meters- and landed in a clumsy roll, trying to minimize any injuries from the fall. Ignoring the protest of his joints, Spy broke into a mad dash, only to throw himself to the ground as the Huey came crashing down behind him. He raised his head a moment later, not completely convinced it was safe; he felt silly for having expected an explosion. (I have to get us out of here, and fast. Sniper! Where the hell is he?)

The propeller was still turning as Spy slunk around the smoking chopper, but its engine had cut out, reducing the noise to a lethargic whine. The smoldering, gore-splashed cockpit was empty, which didn't surprise him; one way or another, Sniper must have already left the aircraft. Creeping under the cover of smoke and tattered plants, Spy snagged one of his shoes against something and toppled over in a heap. The something was Sniper. He seemed to be unconscious, but responded groggily as Spy began hauling him to an upright position.

"...gotta radio back," the Australian mumbled, finding his footing in the undergrowth. Spy steered him around the downed helicopter and towards the trees.

"If ze radio is still working, we will 'ave to worry about it later," Spy hissed. "Whoever did zis knows where we are right now- we 'ave to find cover, 'ave to get ze fuck away from 'ere."

Sniper grimaced as his senses started returning. He nodded stiffly to Spy, his mouth drawn in a tense frown. "Right, y- you're right. Keep your 'ead down- we ll be sitting ducks if this smoke blows away." They hurried away from the landing sight, and had just reached the edge of the forest when a second cluster of rockets found the Huey.

Now, Spy got the explosion he'd been half-expecting. The only forewarning they had was a faint whistling noise, then a white flash; the propeller came flying over their heads, taking Sniper's hat with it. They both dove for the ground as a hail of shrapnel flew at them, miraculously avoiding any serious wounds in the process. (Just a whiff of grapeshot,) he thought, and crawled the rest of the way, only stopping when he found himself and Sniper were well under cover.

"The top- the top of my head, you see it anywhere?" Sniper mumbled, pawing about frantically. He seemed kind of shaken by the demise of his Akubra.

Spy sighed, then groaned. In the absence of flesh-rending peril, he was starting to feel the sting of tiny shards in his back and the grinding ache in his shins. "You didn't get scalped back zere, stop fussing about it. And pull yourself together, we 'ave to be on ze lookout for traps."

After warily examining a nearby tree, Sniper drew himself up into a crouch and leaned against it, letting his head sink forwards onto his knees. "Right. My rucksack might've taken some of that shrapnel. Gotta check my weapons for damage, soon as we find shelter. Lemme get my knife out, I'll use it for now." Sniper fished his trusty kukri out of the pack, then settled it back on his shoulder and finally took a good look at the pair's surroundings.

"See anything?" Spy asked, peering about suspiciously. He knew plenty about disarming booby traps, but his experience with them was limited to more civilized venues. Even dark, bombed-out ruins lacked the clutter of the jungle, and each patch of sunlight that made it through the canopy was a dazzling distraction to his eyes. Though he hated to admit it, the bushman was more suited to this assignment than he was. Spy gave up and watched as Sniper studied the area, his keen eyes flickering this way or that, acutely aware of inconsistencies in the terrain around them. With a free moment to let his own mind wander, Spy could feel his fascination with the other man swelling, tightening around his heart. (You bastard... you are like a hunted wolf, a wild animal. Just seeing you like this fills me with a desperate desire to pursue...)

Sniper's voice brought the rogue's mind back to the present. "Someone was last around 'ere... hm, maybe a week ago? Weren't trying to be slick about it, either. See th'marks on those trees? Where the lianas 'ave been hacked at? ...looks like there's an old footpath they were using, just chopping up anything in their way. I don't see anything what looks like a trap, but we should move slowly, and tread lightly. Let me go first, I've got some idea of what to be wary of. Tell me if you spot anything that looks weird. Or man-made."

"Very well." Spy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again, suddenly feeling tongue-tied. "You are... bah, I will be honest with you, Mundy. Our present circumstances 'ave left me uncertain about ze direction we should be taking 'ere. I am inclined to seek a place where we can tend our wounds. What do you think? With ze rest of our team scheduled to arrive 'ere soon, are we better off 'astening to clear ze area of, ah... environmental 'azards?"

"Before the chopper was hit, that dead bloke 'ad told mission control about the crash we'd seen. I wouldn't put total incompetence beyond our employers, but..." Sniper paused and sagged back on his haunches, wincing; his back was also scored with bits of metal from the destroyed Huey. "I'm hoping they'll put two and two together, and deduce that things aren't going as planned out 'ere. When we don't phone the others from the respawn room in Teufort, they'll know we're still alive. If they do send another flight out... well, I'm not sure what it'll be. Better prepared than we were, I hope."

Sniper rubbed some fresh blood from his right temple and frowned. "In the meantime... finding a place to stop and pick some of this shrapnel out of our hides, that mightn't be a bad idea. It's probably safest to assume we're on our own here, so we've gotta' take care of ourselves. I reckon if we follow that path north, towards the old estate, we'll find a shed or something along the way."

* * *

The two men made cautious progress through the jungle, both keeping their eyes peeled for anyone or anything that could kill them. Sniper had spotted a few pitfalls alongside the path, but they hadn't been dressed recently, and once he saw the dead foliage scattered around them, Spy felt a bit stupid for not having noticed it in the first place. They came across a few places where the trees and underbrush were scarred from explosives, which deepened the sharpshooter's concern.

"I can't say if someone stumbled on a trap there or if they were lobbing grenades, but this didn't happen yesterday." He gestured roughly at a blackened tree stump, already being reclaimed by creepers and fresh undergrowth. "See that? I reckon we're not the first crew they've sent 'ere, recently..."

Humidity hung in the air like a thick comforter, compounded by the stifling afternoon heat. Tiny lizards went scurrying at the RED pair's approach, and mosquitoes harassed them every step of the way. When a breeze finally roused itself to offer some relief, it was accompanied by a thundering rattle on the canopy overhead- they found themselves beset by a torrential downpour. Though it was hardly the first time the Frenchman had been to an exotic land and experienced this sort of weather, he was vexed to be suffering it in this treacherous, muddy setting. The urge to speed up was overshadowed by poor visibility, however, and all the hazards that came with it.

* * *

As the rainfall weakened, Spy realized they were passing by stands of banana trees that had gone wild in the tropical forest. His teammate made no comment, but had probably seen them too; for better or for worse, Sniper had gone quiet aside from the occasional remark about a sprung trap, or a plant that shouldn't be touched. Taking a moment's pause to pick a burr off of his sock, he was caught off-guard by the sound of the other man's voice.

"Psst- you see that? Old out-building up ahead. A storage shack, something of the like. Dunno how it's still standing..." Sniper gestured at something down the path. At first, all Spy could see was more plants, but then he spotted a stone wall hiding beneath a thick covering of bindweed. Following its outline, he realized there was a bit of aluminum sheeting poking out from under the greenery.

(Why hasn't that rusted away?) he thought, but didn't say it out loud; Sniper had already scuttled ahead to investigate, and Spy clambered to catch up with him. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the marksman disappear through a blackened entryway. "Mundy!" he hissed.

"'s a bit drier in here," came a quiet reply, and Spy felt his alarm ease off a little. As he got closer, he could see that Sniper was lingering just inside, no doubt surveying the room for hazards. "The roof looks fairly new. They must've been using this for something recently. ...oi, there's something in the corner, not sure what I'm-"

As the wind picked up, Spy heard the Australian's breath catching in his throat. A moment later, he strode stiffly out of the building with a stony expression on his face, hurried past the bewildered Spy, then doubled-over and vomited onto his boots.

"What ze 'ell is..." Spy wouldn't get an immediate answer from his teammate, but he quickly realized he didn't need one; the breeze coaxed an incredible stench from inside the shelter, and even before he started to gag and rifle through his pockets for a handkerchief, the masked man knew they were dealing with a corpse. While Sniper was busy emptying his stomach, Spy clutched a damp cloth over his nose and mouth, and went to have a look inside.

The shed's dank air was buzzing with flies, stirred up by the wind that had crept in through gaps near the roof. At one end of the room lay a man who had fallen face-down on the floor, his arms folded beneath him as they clutched something to his chest. Spy wasn't a forensics expert, but he could determine the cause of death just by looking- the back of the man's skull had been sprayed across the nearby wall and ceiling. (It must have been a shotgun blast. In this heat, a body wouldn't last long... he's only been here a couple of days.) Unspeakable things were already growing on and in the body, further befouling his uniform and the area around him, turning the dirt floor to a nauseating soup.

Spy didn't trust his gorge enough to describe the scene, and it sounded like the other RED was still being sick, anyways. While not quite a germophobe, he didn't like being anywhere in the vicinity of flies and rotting cadavers, even less now than during the war in Europe. He was desperately curious to know what the dead man was holding, but when he started to reach for a rotting board to turn over the body, Spy felt his stomach convulse and he knew he wasn't up to the task.

He staggered out and dropped to one knee, trying not to choke on his last meal. Something incongruous on the path caught Spy's notice as he fought to regain control of himself, and he picked it up with a sense of bleary confusion. It was a muddy scrap of cloth that appeared to have been hacked from someone's clothes. Spy rubbed it with his gloved fingertips, realizing with dull horror that it had once been his team's color. He grimaced. (Don't be stupid, there's a whole world of people in red shirts. I don't even know if this came from our dead friend in there.) Still, it seemed like an unsettling coincidence.

"Where'd you get that badge?" Sniper's voice and gait were shaky as he approached, but he seemed to be recovering. After pausing to wipe his mouth with one hand, he squinted at Spy again, frowning. "That belongs to Demoman, don't it?"

"What? What badge?" The marksman's question hit Spy out of the blue, and he stared, confounded, before turning the scrap over as it dawned on him. "A Demoman's insignia... I just- it was on ze ground 'ere, it's not from ze one we work with."

"The fellow in the shed? I, uh, didn't get a good look at 'im, but-"

Sniper groaned and sank to a crouch, mumbling something about the smell. While he pulled himself together, Spy tried his hardest to make sense of what they had seen. "We were told zat dying out 'ere will just be a costly inconvenience, but I'm not certain of it now. I 'ave no desire to start prodding zat dead body for clues, and I'm quite sure you don't, either, but- ugh, if 'e was a RED company mercenary, it means zere is even more we don't know about ze situation than before."

"Haven't seen any others. Corpses, I mean," Sniper said, sounding choked. "Don't mean there aren't some about. But I think there'd be more junk, too... weapons, debris, bits of people's armor. Fuck, this is bloody lunacy going on here. I can't understand it."

"Regardless, we 'ave to press on. And 'ope zere is shelter around 'ere zat we won't 'ave to share with a corpse." Spy gingerly stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket, then took out his cigarette case. "Let's move. I need fresh air to smoke in. Away from zat... mess."

"Right." The Australian wobbled to his feet and followed, cursing as he fished his own pack of smokes and found them completely wet. "S- say, spook... y'mind lending us a fag? You know, what with me and you bein' in this together?"

Spy clicked his tongue irritably. "I'll think about it."

* * *

A while after the RED Spy and Sniper had arrived on the island, but long before they made their grisly discovery in that dank shed, the rest of the team had gathered at mission control: a penthouse suite on the roof of their seedy hotel. It was ill-maintained, still scattered with beer cans from its last tenant, and Medic didn't like the way its ancient air conditioner was blowing cobwebs and dust everywhere. Getting splattered with blood and bodily fluids was an acceptable hazard of the workplace, but when off the battlefield, he really couldn't tolerate dirt.

The spiders didn't appeal to him either, but at least they were providing for a little light entertainment. Scout was terrified of the things, cringing and fidgeting on his perch beside the radio console. A few particularly large, fat ones were lurking on flimsy webs over the youngest American's head. Medic was caught between telling him now, and waiting for the AC to shake them onto him.

"Shot down," Soldier growled, as a recording of the Huey's transmission cut out. The group had listened to it several times, and their expressions gave Medic a nagging feeling that some manner of shouting match was imminent. Almost everyone seemed to be in deep thought, pondering the next move they should take. From what had gone on before, he knew a turn of events this disastrous could send the team's usual cohesion flying out of the window. A new plan would have to be made on the spot, and if tempers flared up in the tense atmosphere, getting people to settle on a course of action would be like pulling teeth.

"This is just un-fuckin'-believable. Shit! It was like they already fuckin' knew where we were gonna' land! They- they couldn't have gotten their hands on our intel, could they? It ain't possible! What're we gonna do?" Scout ran a hand over his face, then groaned. Someone gave an irritable sigh, and Demoman turned to glare at him.

"There's only a couple places our men coulda been set down near the plantation, ya blubberin' simp'! If they've got a few men on patrol with th' right ordinance, then we've nowhere safe ta land a second crew that isn't miles from the bleedin' estate!"

Soldier gritted his teeth. "I told them we should've used real gunships for this! Dammit, I say we napalm everything around the landing zone, THEN deploy a second squad! That'll teach those BLU cowards to hide in the trees like a bunch of Goddamn monkeys!"

Although Pyro seemed thrilled at the suggestion of napalm, it prompted a weary sound from Engineer. "Even if we had the time to cook up that much napalm and rig a sensible means of deploying it- which we don't, for the record- our boys are still alive down there. Maybe they're injured, maybe not, b-"

"Bah, we'll get 'em back if they're killed in th' process of us securin' a staging area! It's what we sent 'em te do in the first place, wasn't it?" Demoman wasn't always agreeable to Soldier's impromptu ideas, but 'destroy large pieces of the landscape' must have appealed to him. "We've got enough explosives along te clear out that bit o' topiary, and put the fear 'a God into anyone hidin' in it!"

The stuffy air was being a detriment to Medic's patience, and people shouting in such close quarters wasn't helping, either. As Engineer tried to argue against bombing out a landing zone, the two who were for it became louder and louder. Then Scout chimed in with some pointless hysterics about the fate of the mission, and the doctor really began wishing he was somewhere else. A low rumble was suddenly heard, like thunder, and the others unexpectedly clammed up.

Scout blinked. "What was that?"

Heavy had spoken. He cleared his throat, looking deliberate. Medic found himself visualizing a boulder at the edge of a precipice, or an animal preparing to charge... something with great momentum that was getting ready to throw its weight around. Apparently satisfied that he'd been listened to, the huge Russian repeated his words. It was a question. "Two other helicopters: vhere are they?"

"Uhh... oh yeah, they're- aw, where the fuck did that transcript go?" Scout leaned over Soldier's shoulder, and started rifling through a stack of papers that sat before the teletype. Soldier made a grab for them, grunting irately, but the young man yanked the sheets away and began poring over them at hyper speed. "Right! The choppers are in the lot out back. They arrived the same time as the one we've lost contact with. But one of the guys who was gonna, y'know, drive us out there, he's come down with Montezuma's revenge or somethin'. Like, an hour ago. Real good timing."

The Russian looked annoyed. While he seemed to know a colloquialism when he heard one, the more obscure ones usually required an explanation. "Come down vith whose revenge? You mean vhat?"

Scout tried to laugh and groan at the same time, and wound up just making unnecessary noise. "The guy's shitting his guts out, y'know? From eatin' weird food or some shit? He can't pilot his helicopter."

Understanding dawned on Heavy's face. This must have been news to some of the others, as well, because a murmur of consternation passed through the group. Medic was a little more annoyed than anyone else by this hitch in their plans, though. At risk of starting another shouting match, he snapped, "You should heff told us zat before!"

"You didn't ask about it, you dried-up old windbag! Besides, the plan was for people ta get dropped off in shifts. Do we really need two fuckin' helicopters in the air at once?"

Medic was about to rebuff Scout when he found himself cut off by Heavy, of all people. "Ve might. Sick pilot is no problem. I drive this machine before."

Soldier couldn t believe him. "They've never sold Hueys to the Soviets, you lying commie rat!" Exhibiting greater patience than most, Heavy just smiled and shrugged a little.

"Vas flying Sikorsky S-58 helicopter in Sinai desert, years ago. Is long story. Controls of UH-1 are... vhat is expression, close enough?" A wide grinned spanned across his face. "Now listen: I know vhat must be done."

While Heavy began explaining his idea to the group, Medic shrugged off his long coat and watched, feeling his ears burning with curiosity from that helicopter comment. The giant man was always surprising him. He had seen the pensive look on Heavy's face since the start of this meeting, but he hadn't expected any of his teammates to hash out a realistic course of action so quickly. Not even the little genius from Texas, whose usual pragmatic bent seemed to be weak today. (I'm sure that his friend going missing in action is the cause. Poor fellow, he really does let his heart get the better of him.) Medic smirked faintly, remembering the conversation between Engineer and Spy that he'd overheard, the way Engie had lashed out at the other man's words. The mechanic was visibly wound-up right now, and desperate to know what had become of Sniper.

Part of Heavy's plan was to answer that question. "Ve know important thing now: helicopter vill probably be attacked. I drive helicopter under fire before. Know how to keep from being destroyed. Ve take helicopter to island, hide helicopter after landing, find man who shoot down first helicopter and kill him. Medic, you come. If missing men are injured, you make them strong again. More men to help fight." Heavy looked over the others as though gauging their reactions, and his eyes settled on Scout. "Tiny man come too. You operate radio if we need, look for missing men. You run fastest."

Scout groaned in disbelief. "Aw man, I don't wanna get saddled with fuckin' Romeo and Juliet! If- if you're only takin' three people along, bring Engie instead. He can make dispensers and shit to keep you going."

As Soldier, Engineer and Demoman muttered among themselves about this course of action, Medic gave a quiet sigh and leaned against his human shield. "Ah, my vork vould be much more difficult vizout you, Herr Heavy. I hope you never stop surprising me." He was tempted to be more flirtatious, but Medic knew that this wasn't the best time or place. At the sound of his words, Heavy looked down at him and grinned.

"Someone have to make good plan. Helping Doktor is reward itself. ...you vant anything changed?" he added, raising his eyebrows a little. Although he'd listen to his other teammates, Medic was the only one he actively sought suggestions from.

Medic shook his head. "I vill heff to load some medical supplies into zer helicopter, but zis is not my area of expertise. ...I am certain Herr Soldier will have issue viz some part or anozzer. You can hear him out while I gather ze essentials." The doctor watched for a moment, just before he left the penthouse. Sure enough, Soldier was starting to tell Heavy how he thought it should be done. The lantern-jawed American was talking rather than shouting, though, so hopefully things would stay civil.

In the end they all agreed on Heavy's plan, more or less. Engineer had been strangely silent while his team-mates made preparations, and vanished to his room once he was confident with the second Iroquois' state of repair. Medic wasn't sure if he was being petulant or just needed time to himself, but neither possibility seemed consistent with the Texan's usual behavior. The mission left him with no time to ponder this, though. As soon as they were in the air, Medic settled down for some last-minute reviews of their intel. While the RED company's technology had made him rather unworried about his mortality (at least in the long run), getting killed was still unpleasant, and losing any member of the group right now could compromise the whole mission.


	4. Leaning Together

( _Author's note: aspects of this story have been toned-down ____in accordance with this site's rules about explicit sexual language_; if you're desperate to see the un-edited version, it can be found at y-gallery, where my username is also Yaddie.)

* * *

The sun was lower in the sky when the island came in sight, hazy green under a towering mass of clouds. From the corner of his eye, Medic could see Scout in the back of the helicopter, apparently losing his mind in the absence of conversation or some room to move. Watching the boy fidget was just making him feel worse, so he closed his eyes and sagged into the passenger's seat, taking a few deep breaths. (I'm just airsick. It's just the shaking and the noise in here that's getting to me, nothing more.) Medic's coat was folded in his lap, and he tightened his grip on the white fabric, hoping the feeling would pass once they landed. Sooner rather than later would be good, really, but he knew that wouldn't happen.

Heavy had been largely silent for the duration of their flight, although the Huey's roar made it impossible to carry on a normal conversation. Being able to hear the Russian joking around or singing would have been a nice distraction, but the only sound from him had been status reports, shouted to whoever was listening at mission control. Squinting through his glasses for a moment, Medic wondered if they might need another pair of eyes to look for danger once they reached land. The scenery would have been beautiful from a stationary platform. As seen through a shaky helicopter window, though, it was just exacerbating his nausea. He stifled a groan, then took another deep breath and yelled, "Scout! Keep a lookout once we are over zat island!"

The youth had been getting on Medic's nerves back at the hotel, but despite an hour's captivity in the Huey, he was now wearing his game face. "Gotchya!" he shouted back, without so much as a word of complaint. The doctor wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but when Scout got down to business, he wasn't a bad guy to work with.

With that taken care of, Medic was free to focus on keeping his gorge down. (I should have brought the Kritzkrieg along for this, it always helps on a rough trip... the Medi-gun's fumes just don't produce the same sort of euphoria. Maybe an adjustment to the unit could reproduce the effect...) He didn't have the option of mucking about with his Medi-gun's inner workings right now, although it gave him something to occupy his mind.

Scout and Heavy could be heard just over the din, yelling about the weather outside; Medic took a cursory glance at their surroundings and saw swaths of rain had begun to fall, so thick they seemed to hang from the clouds in thick sheets. The Huey began shaking fitfully, and Medic averted his gaze from the trees they were skimming over, rifling through his coat pockets for a sick-bag. It was no error that the chopper was so near the canopy; the aircraft was too noisy to avoid being noticed, but it would have a smaller profile than if they were higher up, and reduce the time their enemies would have to spot it while they were landing. Hugging the tree line made for an even rougher ride than before, and Medic was suddenly grateful for the Huey's incessant racket- it drowned out the sound of his heaving.

"Aw, sick! Do you really gotta blow chunks right now?" Scout was shouting in Medic's ear, and looking a little green himself. Medic didn't know what kind of answer he was expecting, but glared at him and gave a few wet coughs.

"Ve are in dangerous territory, dummkopf! Keep your eyes on zer jungle, and- and mind your own business!" The doctor's mood was going from 'anxious' to 'dangerously testy', and Scout wisely returned to his job at the window.

At the controls, Heavy looked like the world's biggest Formula One competitor. He was completely focused on the task at hand, his expression tightened into a grim smile as the Huey raced over the dense foliage of the jungle. With the landing zone nearing, as well as the threat of being shot down, his reflexes were on a hair trigger. Whatever took down the first helicopter would not claim theirs: he seemed determined to see this through.

"There's the fuckin' chopper wreck! Look, look! It's over there, at your- uh- your ten o'clock!" Scout was frantically gesturing to the remains of Spy and Sniper's ride out, but Heavy didn't let himself be distracted by this. Even with the danger they were in, Medic felt himself smiling faintly at the big man, thinking of words like 'indefatigable' and 'tenacious'. In any language, Heavy always defied description by any single word; at this moment, the doctor would have needed to draw up a list of adjectives if he wanted to express his thoughts on the Russian.

The helicopter slowed and descended, touching down across the clearing from the crash, as close to the trees as they could get without destroying the propeller. As the sound of the engine died down, the three men were already staggering out into the rain, making for the cover of the jungle. Medic was feeling weak in the knees after their flight, but he managed not to lose his footing. He saw Scout go face-first into the undergrowth in a premature attempt at running, and stopped to help the boy up again.

"Fuck!" Scout sputtered, coughing and scrabbling the filth off his face. It had only been a few moments since they stepped into the rain, and everyone was already soaked to the skin. They hadn't been attacked, though, and the first task at hand was to conceal the Huey as best as they could. With a delirious little laugh, Scout pointed around the grove where they were standing. "What the hell, these are fuckin' banana trees? I thought they grew on sticks or somethin'..."

Heavy thumped one of the fibrous trunks curiously, then reached up and tore off a thick frond. Their foliage consisted of wide leaves that were dark green in colour, some as long as a grown man. They would make for good camouflage. "Good. Take as many as you can, ve put these on helicopter. Is good entire machine vas not painted red, yes?" His teeth flashed in the dim light, and he set to work defoliating the tallest trees he could reach. Medic drew his bonesaw and joined in, piling the leaves on the ground in a neat stack. Scout finally got his bearings, and scrambled to take a heap of greenery back to the chopper so it could be rendered a little less obvious to the human eye.

The rain and encroaching darkness made camouflaging the Huey unpleasant, but it also meant they had a safe hiding place- at least for now. Medic wasn't sure how visible it would be in broad daylight, but soon nightfall would conceal any parts they had missed. (It still looks too much like a helicopter draped in leaves for my taste,) he thought, frowning.

"Trouble, Doktor?" Heavy had shed his flak jacket for the moment, and was wringing the rainwater out of his shirt. The monsoon-like conditions had let off a bit, but despite the tropical setting, they were all starting to feel cold in their soaked clothing.

"Just concerned. Bah, I'm certain Herr Engineer would know how to safeguard zis machine against being stolen... Viz night coming on so fast, I think ve should do as much as possible while zere is still light. Secure the perimeter of zis clearing, perhaps. Your thoughts?"

Scout cut in, looking antsy and curious at the same time. "I wanna' check out that wreckage over there. See if there's any clue what happened to them, y'know?"

"Vas exploded," Heavy grunted, but didn't object. The American flipped him the bird.

"Glad you were payin' attention, Sherlock! ...fuck it, I'm gonna go look. You old farts can circle around the other side. I'll meetchya before you're halfway done." With that, Scout scuttled off towards the downed helicopter. There were enough tall plants and bushes in the clearing that he was soon out of sight, and Medic grudgingly hoped nothing would kill him.

The doctor turned to Heavy, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Shall ve, mein schatz? ...vatch your step, I heff no idea if zere are traps around here." The huge man nodded, his expression warming up a little, and they began their survey of the tree line.

* * *

Scout had been thrilled when he learned his RED team had a mission in the Caribbean. Growing up in Boston, he felt about as far from the tropics you could get- particularly in winter, when sleet and the early nightfall made being outdoors a misery. He remembered seeing "Swiss Family Robinson" at the age of ten, and cursing his life as he walked home from the theater, struggling over icy sidewalks as a howling wind froze the snot in his nose. Being on a tropical island seemed like paradise, when even your hand-me-down parka and mitts couldn't keep the cold out.

The poverty of the city where they'd been stationed hadn't soured his feelings, really. Sure, a lot of the buildings had looked really shabby, but it wasn't that different from the neighborhood he was from. (At least these bums have warm weather year-round. And the view of that harbor? Fuckin' amazing. There's no tropical beaches or mango trees or shit back in Boston.) The cheap rum didn't hurt, either. On the night that Sniper declined to go out, Scout and the others had found a tourist bar, with enough liquor and dancing girls to keep them all busy. Those girls sure could shake it. Demoman could have passed off as one of the locals, but hearing him and the bartender try to communicate had been hilarious to the rest of the party; between their diverse accents, they might as well have been speaking different languages. American dialects were more familiar to the islanders, though, and Engineer diffused whatever confusions the RED team may have caused. Scout's memory of their evening out was foggy towards the end, but he had decided the Caribbean was perfect by that point.

As he jogged through the rain-soaked foliage and tried not to slip on anything, Scout was feeling less thrilled about being on a tropical island. He was cold from the rain, covered in mud from the knees down, and harassed by mosquitoes. There was a job to be done, though, and finding where his teammates had gone would make it easier for everyone.

"Man, fuck this place. Fuckin' rain... fuckin' mud an' crap in my shoes... fuckin' wet underwear ridin' up the crack of my ass..." Scout had already learned that running wasn't his best means of locomotion here, so he moved at a more cautious pace. Coming up on the stand of trees where, some hours previously, Spy and Sniper made their desperate scramble for cover, Scout noticed something weird stuck into the trunk of a large hardwood. "Oh, you have got to be fuckin' kidding me. That's a propeller. ...wow." He ran a hand over his face, then took a second look at it- the blade had broken in two on impact, leaving half of itself in the tree. He stretched up on tip-toes, but couldn't quite touch the thing. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the wreck itself standing amidst a charred, shrapnel-torn patch of bushes. A thought struck him. (Was it already on the ground when it got blown up? There's still a lot of it in one place, considering what happened to it...)

As Scout turned to approach the crash site, he spotted a hat's brim in the grass and picked it up for closer examination. "This is Sniper's... man, what the fuck happened to it?" The Akubra's top was half-missing, like someone had swung a sword at Sniper and aimed a little high. Blood splattered the wide brim, and there was a little on the inside, too. The damaged area was clean, though, aside from mud and some chestnut-brown locks. Scout didn't know what to make of it, and stuffed it into his messenger bag for safekeeping.

The wreck itself didn't reveal much new information. Scout felt confident now that it had been destroyed after landing, rather than being shot down; the craft was still on its feet, and while the roof and outer walls were missing, the tail still hung from what remained of its back half. The front seats lay nearby. As Scout approached them, he felt something tear a gash in his right calf. Swearing, the youth leaned over to discover a large piece of shrapnel on the ground. "Ow, fuckin'- dammit, I gotta get moving. Nothing left for me here."

Scout continued along the edge of the clearing, muttering under his breath about everything that was pissing him off at the moment. Talking was almost involuntary for him, and he probably would have been more distracted trying to keep quiet. The rain had yet to regain its previous strength, but it still glinted in the dying light, and kept him second-guessing every time he thought he saw movement. A fresh breeze kept the foliage waving all around him, as though the jungle itself were a writhing, spineless creature, a dark green medusoid lashing endlessly at the tiny people on its back. "I've been readin' too many of Sniper's crazy magazines," he sighed, shivering in his wet clothes. "Gotta' keep focused, keep my fuckin' head in the game. Ugh, I bet those assholes back at the hotel are living it up..."

The outline of a tall, rectangular object among the trees caught Scout's eye. Something about the sight made him immediately wary, and he ducked behind a tree trunk while trying to determine if it was a threat. "The fuck is that? Looks like a metal box, or a- a telephone booth without windows?" His eyes followed the building up towards the canopy, and at its top he could see a shorter box with four round openings in the front. The whole thing was still, but humming quietly. Scout emerged from his hiding place and came closer to the structure, shaking water off his head while he walked. The rain had stopped for the moment, and as the wind died down, an eerie stillness crept over the clearing.

"Okay pal, lemme get a closer look at you...whatever you are," he said, stopping a few meters away from the thing and looking up at it. The object stood at roughly three times Scout's height, its inner workings concealed by sheet metal walls. Scout stretched, then leaned back to study the box at the top, and jumped in surprise when it tilted down towards him. Those four deep holes in its face were looking more and more like Something Bad. A sharp "beep!" sounded from within the machine, and Scout was suddenly and terribly aware of what he was seeing.

* * *

A scream could be heard from across the clearing. "FUCK! SENTRY! IT- FUCKIN' SENTRY!" While Heavy and Medic were still trading bewildered glances, an explosion shook the clearing, and they broke into a run.

Medic was the faster of the two. He lunged ahead and parted a thick clump of beautiful but thorny bougainvillea, then suddenly found himself thrown back to the ground by a fast-moving projectile. A talking, fast-moving projectile.

"Oh my God it's a fuckin' giant rocket shooting never seen shit, that, it- it's fuckin' HUGE, man! Th-th-that thing! Am- am I bleedin'? Fucker shot like a whole bunch of fuckin' rockets at me and fuck! I fuckin' RAN like I was running from the fuckin' grim reaper rocket skeleton horse, like- like it was comin' after me and fuck..." Scout had landed on top of Medic and was yelling hysterically, clinging to the older man's shirtfront and shaking in wide-eyed terror.

A second explosion sounded off in the clearing, another barrage of rockets that had missed their desperately fleeing target, but none followed after that. Medic groaned and sat up while the runner continued to babble, and eventually placed his hands on Scout's shoulders, then gave them a stiff shake. Heavy watched curiously.

"Herr Scout," he hissed, "Stop your screaming before everything on ze island finds us here!"

Scout's incomprehensible rambling petered off, although it took him a few moments longer to get off the older man and awkwardly help him up. "I... I, uh, I think I know what got the other chopper. There's a fuckin', uh, some kinda' sentry tower thing hidden in the trees there. Y'know, like the ones Engie makes, but with nothin' but big rockets." Scout was still visibly spooked, but he was pulling himself together by degrees, and that was a big relief for Medic.

"Vhy it not shoot us down?" Heavy asked, looking particularly grim in the deepening twilight.

"I dunno, man! I dunno! It wasn't... wh-when I saw it at first, it wasn't really turned on or nothin'. I just remember that everything was real quiet all of a sudden, and I was walkin' over to look at it when it started fuckin' shooting at me."

Heavy's pensive frown intensified. "Don't understand. Helicopter is bigger than tiny man." He looked around as though some clue might present itself, but the foliage was silent and still.

"Ach-" Medic suddenly felt a jolt of realization, and turned to his colleagues. "Ze weather is calming, zat must be it! Those things have motion sensors of some sort, jah? But if it were to be operational while everything around it is shaking from ze vind, it vould be useless for finding targets. Even dangerous to whoever built it! Zey must have tuned zat machine to become active vhen ze vind is still, so any erratic movement it fires at vould heff to be a person or a vehicle."

Scout rubbed his eyes and sagged a bit. "Well, we gotta' destroy the fuckin' thing, one way or another. You think it can find us in the dark?"

The doctor shook his head, frowning. "Quite possibly. I, ah... I am not sure if ze sensors on it are responding to light, or acoustics, or..." He shrugged, feeling frustrated to be faced with a technical challenge that was outside his professional sphere. "As long as ve stay out of its line of sight, ve should be able to return to ze aircraft safely, but I don't know ze safest vay to destroy it. Perhaps if ze weather picks up again..."

"Bet its own rockets would work against it. I outrun them, y'know? I'd just hafta' pass by it at the right moment, and bam! If the thing's aimed low enough, it might shoot its own ass off." After the panic he had arrived in, Medic was surprised to see Scout so eager to face off with the sentry again.

Heavy shook his head, and rumbled, "Is too dangerous. Drawing rocket fire at point-blank range? Vould be too fast for you, I think. Better at a distance. ...vhere is destroyed helicopter?"

Scout looked like he was going to get mouthy over Heavy's comment, but the question caught him off guard. He pointed to the south. "Wait, what? ...it's over that way. Everything's kinda burned up around it, you can't miss it. I think they musta' got blown up after they landed, 'cause it's really just missing the top. The body of it's still standing there, it even has the tail stuck to it. Why?"

The huge Russian's mouth twitched. "Vait here. Listen. Vhen I yell, Scout draw sentry's attention. Run fast. Keep rocket fire near these bushes. Near them! Not on them! I have plan." Before Scout or Medic could start asking for clarification, Heavy crept off into the bushes. The pampas grass and flowering shrubs were tall enough that even he could find concealment, and soon the only sign of him was a faint rustling, growing more distant as the moments passed.

They traded wary glances. Scout looked particularly uncertain and asked, "What the fuck's he doing?"

Medic was nonplussed. "How should I know? Just keep your head down, dummkopf. ...hm, zat is blood? Hold still, I vill heal you."

"Oh yeah, I kinda forgot about that. There was a big fuckin' hunk of twisted metal in the bushes, I cut my leg on it."

While they waited for a sign from Heavy, Medic tended to the gash on the boy's calf. It could have been a peaceful moment for introspection, if they weren't both expecting their colleague to get blown up at any second. Then a yell was heard that filled them with mixed relief and anxiety.

"GO, SCOUT! RUN!"

Scout darted off to the far edge of their cover, then he ran.

Night was nearly upon them now, and the rocket's flash illuminated the sentry tower with each barrage, making itself a beacon amidst the trees. Medic watched as best as he could through a gap in the foliage. He made note of the long pause between rocket bursts, the tower's height, and the sounds it produced, but that was mostly to keep himself occupied; he didn't know if there were more of these, but cowering in the dark while his team-mates tried to deal with one was nerve-wracking.

The day they arrived in the Caribbean, Medic had spotted an orange crab in a garden, across the street from the hotel. It was a tiny creature with long legs, and as he approached it had darted away, scurrying lightning-fast over roots and dead leaves before vanishing into a burrow. Medic found himself thinking of it now while he watched Scout dodging rockets; the youth didn't seem to be running, so much as clambering through and over the bushes with unbelievable speed, leaving craters in his wake. (What the hell are you doing, Heavy? Where are you?)

Another cluster of rockets struck out, then Medic saw something hurtle towards the tower. There was a cruel screech of metal, a loud crash of foliage and machinery. Smoke poured from the edge of the clearing, but he resisted the temptation to walk out, instead waiting for his teammates to return to him. Scout arrived first, panting a little.

"Okay... alright. I dunno what just happened, but... I think we don't gotta worry about that thing anymore." The boy's grin was dimly visible, and Medic couldn't help but smile back.

"You did vell, not getting yourself blown to pieces."

Heavy's approach could be heard, and then he pushed his way through the shrubbery and joined the others. "Come, is too dark now. Dangerous to travel, ve go back now." He gestured towards their base, as it were, and they set out for the shelter of the leaf-strewn Iroquois.

"The fuck did you do to that thing, man? What happened?" Scout had caught his breath after all that running, and now that Heavy's plan had worked, he seemed curious to know what it was. Medic wouldn't have worded the question so crudely, but he was also keen to be enlightened.

The big man shrugged, grinning in false modesty. "I throw crashed helicopter at it. Vell, tail of helicopter. Rockets vould protect against this thing, but... you keep it busy for me."

As they walked back through the twilight, Medic moved back alongside Heavy, then surreptitiously grabbed as much of the Russian's huge tricep as he could fit his hand around.

* * *

The higher incidence of bananas alongside the path was a relief to Sniper, even as he felt his wariness of traps increasing. (We're getting closer.) Sure enough, he started to catch glimpses of an open field through gaps in the foliage, and edifices of human habitation were also becoming a more common sight. Some of them looked unnervingly recent. On the outskirts of the plantation, they found a dirt road that cut through the trees, connecting the field to a larger outbuilding.

Sniper could feel suspicion nagging at him as he and Spy examined the scenery. He spoke quietly to the other man; in the failing light, Sniper decided, pointing out things that seemed obvious might not be a bad idea. "See that supply barn? It can't be more'n a few years old, if that."

"Quite remarkable, considering zis place 'as been abandoned for decades," Spy sniffed. The masked man's frustration at the gaps in their briefing was understandable, if a bit worrisome. It was becoming clear that the RED company hadn't told the mercenaries everything they knew about this island. "Ze map showed locations of many buildings around ze estate, but I 'ad assumed they were just ruins. With night approaching zis fast, I believe we should consider seeking shelter 'ere...provided zere are no traps or dead bodies in zis building."

"Right," Sniper said, grimacing at the memory of their earlier discovery. It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd seen what jungle conditions did to a corpse, but in recent years, he'd become gradually accustomed to the naive expectation that dead people vanish before they have a chance to stink. Having a teammate blown to pieces in front of him was just incentive to fight harder. The limited consequences of death and the fleeting nature of human remains, at least in Sniper's day-to-day life, was slowly detaching him from the reality of the world.

(Respawn... Our employers didn't say it was non-functional out here, they just said that a chamber hadn't been set up yet. That we'd wind up in the Badlands if we were killed. Were those bastards lying to us? The RED Demoman we found, he sure isn't respawning. Poor bastard...) While they cautiously approached the barn, Sniper continued to brood. The loading door was modern- an aluminum shutter- and rusted shut on its rails. A smaller door was to the right of it, and after a few good kicks, he was able to break the lock and gain entrance. Spy followed nearby, hovering at his shoulder, and closed the door behind them.

They found it to be almost empty, free of both death traps and supply caches. The concrete floor smelled oily, and as Sniper drew an electric torch from his rucksack and illuminated their surroundings, it was clear this had been used as a machine shop. There was a small office in one corner of the barn, and over it, a flight of stairs lead up to a loft that overlooked the work floor. The only fixtures left now were posters and a calendar in the office, all emblazoned with the RED company logo.

The two men sat down on the empty office's floor. "Fuck! What 'ave those bastards been playing us for? Look at ze date written over zere- two years old. Zey had men fighting for zis island two years ago, and just forgot to mention it before sending us out?" Spy spat and lit himself a cigarette, shivering in his damp clothes.

"This doesn't make any bloody sense to me, mate. They fight 'ere a while, then... pack up and leave? There's nothing out here worth stickin' around for, I suppose, but if they'd won- assuming they did, as we've not seen a sign of the BLUs since that wreck flyin' in- why send US out here now? Not to mention, whichever cohort of RED mercenaries that sorry sod in the shed belonged to..." Sniper was trying not to fidget too much, but he and Spy were both succumbing to chilblains, and hours of creeping through the jungle had done nothing to ease their shrapnel wounds. "Christ, Spy, I really wanna know what the fuck is goin' on. But I think for now, we... well, we ought to tend our injuries. Let our clothes dry. Don t wanna get trench foot."

As Sniper wrestled off his boots and socks, the other man gave a sign of resignation and began to undress as well. "For now, regretfully, we can only speculate. 'ere, do you 'ave a first aid kit in zere?"

"I should bloody well hope so," he grunted, unpacking the contents of his pack. The bottle of Tanqueray had survived unscathed, but his submachine gun was scored in a few places, and the wooden stock of his rifle still had bits of the Huey embedded in its surface. There was also a white tin with a red cross on it, but the shrapnel had perforated its lid; a strong smell of iodine came from within. "Well this is a real piece of piss... Look at this, the bleedin' gauze is full of that shit."

"Tweezers?"

"No, no, the tweezers are in one piece. It's just the little- there was this plastic bottle wif iodine in it, see? And the damn thing-"

Spy cleared his throat. "Tweezers- 'and zem to me. And take your shirt off, I will clean your wounds."

"Oh, right. Of course," Sniper mumbled a little, and shrugged off his vest and shirt. After a moment's thought, he took a swig of gin, then handed Spy the first-aid kit.

He could feel Spy's gaze on him, studying his body. It wasn't the first time he'd had Spy leaning over his back, after all. This time, though, the masked man was just carrying out a medical procedure. He tensed in pain each time his partner dug out a bit of metal, and shivered at the touch of iodine-soaked gauze; for the next half-hour, the only sounds in the little room were Sniper's panting, stifled groans and the occasional murmur from Spy.

Then it was over. Spy snagged the bottle of gin from him and had a long drink, then returned the first-aid kit. "Zere, you should 'ave nothing but a few new scars on your back. I am... curious about ze others you 'ave, I confess, but-"

Anger flared up in Sniper's chest, and he silenced Spy with a tweezer jab. "Got nothing to say t'you 'bout that, you mask-wearing sneak. We've all got things better kept to ourselves."

Spy seemed tempted to prod him further, but was wisely mute for the rest of his treatment. When Sniper had picked the last fragments from Spy's back, he set the soiled gauze aside with a shaky sigh and sat down on the floor. "Oi, gimme that bottle. I really need a drink right now."

"Zis day 'as been exceptionally frustrating," Spy said quietly, passing Sniper a smoke along with the Tanqueray.

The Australian felt more grateful than he wanted to be, and when he'd taken another pull from the bottle, he left it in arm's reach of Spy. "Don't know how long that torch will last. We oughta see if we can build a small fire. Floor in 'ere's not greasy as the rest of the barn. C'mon, get off your posh arse and help me."

The two of them found some cinderblocks, and set them down to make a containing wall for their fire. Sniper broke some wooden railing off the mezzanine, and they had enough fuel to keep themselves illuminated for the rest of the night, and a little warmer besides. The wet clothes were draped over the stairs; with all the work they could do complete, they sat down on the concrete floor and shivered side-by-side.

Sniper frowned into the fire as he had another drink.

"Worrying about ze state of our mission, Mssr. Mundy?" Spy asked, looking cold, weary, and a little drunk.

The bushman's frown persisted. (Maybe if we were back in the hotel right now, or at least had something to sit on that wasn't rock-hard... Maybe if we hadn't found that body- that's got to be it, the the fear, the... the mortality? Right, the sense of mortality. Or just... maybe, if I weren't sozzled and exhausted from everything we've been through... then I wouldn't want to be sitting closer to him.) He squirmed a bit, still wearing his damp trousers for lack of anything underneath.

Spy sighed, clicking his tongue; for his part, he was wearing plain briefs of a thin fabric, that had almost certainly dried by now. "If those wet pants are making you chilly, just take ze fucking things off. You 'ave nothing I 'aven't seen before."

Sniper weighed his options, then decided he was too tired to care about what might happen. After shedding his pants, he hung them to dry with the rest of his clothes, then returned to the abandoned office and parked himself beside Spy. They were closer now, close enough to rub shoulders with one another. "Don't get th' wrong idea, mate, I'm just- I'm bloody cold right now."

"You wound me, mon chou." Spy brushed his fingertips over his heart, and fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. Then he sighed, putting an arm across Sniper's back and pulling the Australian closer. "Given our present circumstances, I think ze laborer would forgive you for being in close physical contact with me."

"This ain't about him, you bloody weasel. I don't want to... to want this!" Sniper growled, trying to raise some objection, but the closeness of Spy's body was so comforting... too comforting. He could feel arousal flaring up in his belly, filling his extremities with a pleasant, throbbing warmth. After a long moment of glowering, he groaned faintly and curled up against Spy, resting his head on the masked man's shoulder. "I want this. Christ, I'm just so bloody cold and achin' right now, I don't even care who's touching me. I can't think, not after..."

Spy shushed him, and started gently massaging his neck. "It's been a long day, and we're both a bit drunk. 'ere, I can take care of you, if you will let me..."

"Hmph." Sniper felt as though his head was spinning. He couldn't bring himself to say 'yes' out loud, to ask for one thing or another, and just pressed his mouth against Spy's throat. The other man gave a soft gasp, then placed one hand on his chest and began teasing a slow trail down to his straining erection. He grunted impatiently and bit Spy, who chuckled.

"Zis doesn't 'ave to mean anything. Mmm, we are just tending to our needs, you know. It is no different from eating or breathing. We are both animals at heart, and-" The sound of Spy's voice was at once annoying and exciting to Sniper, and he reached down to the growing stiffness in those white briefs, slipping his fingers under the waistband, Spy shivered at his touch and cried out, digging neatly-trimmed nails into Sniper's shoulder.

"Less yappin', more work," he said, panting as Spy grabbed him and got down to business. It occurred to him that he might feel guilty about this later, but to Sniper, this wasn't about affection and most certainly not love. His attitude towards Spy had warmed up a little, but trading hand-jobs with the Frenchman was just an exercise in stress relief. At least, Sniper kept telling himself that. (This isn't the first time in history that two lonely blokes have sat around, wanking together. He knows I'm not fond of him. ...besides, if Engie was here too, I'd shag him and leave Spy out in the bloody cold.) Thoughts of Engineer made his heart ache with longing, but left him reasonably confident that whatever was happening now, he hadn't strayed emotionally from his close friend.

They huddled together for a while, each man dizzily focused on bringing the other one off. It was clumsy and messy, but as he trembled, spurting into Spy's tight fist, he felt it had a satisfying finish. Sniper hooked an arm around the small of Spy's back and held him close, pumping him vigorously until he came as well.

Spy's breath was hot and shaky against Sniper's cheek. They clung to one another for what seemed like an eternity, ignoring the stickiness from their encounter, just glad to be warm and light-headed and in the company of another person. Even after they disengaged from the embrace, Spy seemed aware that too many words would spoil the moment. They only exchanged a few weary murmurs before lying down for the night. Sniper wriggled over to spoon with his teammate, who briefly cringed, then decided the sting of his wounds was preferable to having a cold back. Soon they were both in a deep sleep.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the fact that he was out of practice from his years working for the RED company, but Sniper had let his natural wariness slip; he always slept with one eye open out in the bush, where being a light sleeper could save your life. Now, he was immersed in a dreamless resting state that his body desperately needed, but completely vulnerable to any intruder. As footsteps whispered across the floor and silent hands gathered up the two men's weapons, neither did so much as bat an eyelid.

They had company.


	5. Absent Friends

Soldier sat hunched over the radio console, glowering at it, as though the device were withholding important information that it just didn't feel like sharing with him. Maybe it was. He knew electronics were an important component of the team's equipment, and trusted the ones that could heal a man or restore him to life. Over time, he had even started using the battlefield teleporters, although Engineer's reassurances that they "wouldn't ever turn a man inside out on my watch" had something to do with it.

The console seemed shifty, though. Or perhaps it was the helicopter's radios that were behaving strangely. Either way, Soldier had heard sounds come through while talking with Heavy. The dead pilot, too. He didn't like these sounds. (Can hear people talking,) he thought, and frowned some more. It was incoherent, but Soldier was certain he was overhearing some hushed, crackly message over the radio.

A red light came on, and now he was definitely hearing a voice. Heavy's. The Russian lacked his usual bass tones over this medium, and sounded a little funny as a result. Even so, it could be no one else. "Home base, you read?"

"Loud and clear, Heavy," Soldier sighed. He had been alternating between rage and helpless frustration since the second crew had set out, and right now was in the latter state. "Got a status report for me, private, or are you people just lonely out there?"

Someone jeered in the background, probably Scout. "As of... nineteen-hundred, ve are forced to stay here for the night. Too dark to see in jungle."

"Well, isn't that just great. Haven't you ever heard of flashlights? Or lanterns, or- or fucking torches?" Soldier's natural urge was to chew them out for stopping, but his heart wasn't in it. He knew from his travels in Europe that trying to navigate a forest at night was a good way to maim yourself. Even if there weren't traps in the area, tripping on deadfall or blundering off a cliff could result in a singularly non-heroic death. "Dammit, I guess it wouldn't be worth the risk to set out right now. Have you got any good news?"

Heavy grunted, but the radio only picked up the sound of air hissing out between his teeth. "Landing area is secure. Vas automated sentry that shoot down other helicopter. Ve destroy it. Now, you come as soon as ve have light."

Soldier perked up a little. "Really? Excellent work, men! We'll be there at the crack of dawn! Any sign of our MIA's?"

There was a pause. After some indistinct words from the others, the Russian spoke again. "Scout find the hat of Sniper, but nothing else. Ve search tomorrow."

A frustrated grumbling sound escaped Soldier. It occurred to him that over the radio, the others probably just heard hissing too. "Anything else to report?"

"No."

"Alright, then... home base out." As the red light went dark, Soldier propped his elbows against the console and muttered to himself. He didn't expect any updates from the Medic's team, but with the long night ahead, and no more preparations to make, he was at a loss for direction.

It could have been for minutes or hours that he sat there, brooding over the state of the mission, with no company but the silent radio. Soldier was so deep in thought, he barely noticed when someone opened the door and walked in. The sound of a voice, though- a certifiable human voice- was enough to snap him out of his fugue.

"Howdy, Sarge. Any news from the field?"

He looked up to see Engineer, who headed to the console and handed him a bottle of the local lager. It was dripping with condensation, and Soldier suddenly realized that he was in desperate need of a cold drink. "Thanks, Engie," he said, wrenching the cap off. "Their last report was at nineteen-hundred hours, but they didn't have much to say. The Ruskie said our Spy and Sniper were nowhere to be found, but they managed to safeguard the landing zone for us. He said there was a sentry that must've destroyed our first chopper - it's no longer a threat. They nailed it."

Engineer's brow creased, and he fiddled with his own beer, looking troubled. His goggles were hanging around his neck, but there were red marks around his eyes where he had been wearing them recently, and one of his eyebrows was a bit singed. "I see... nothin' from Teufort, I take it?"

"Negatory on that, private. Whatever's become of our men, they're still hanging on out there. No respawns have been reported from our crew." Soldier rose to his feet and stretched for a moment, trying to ignore the creaking of his lower back. He turned to Engineer and clapped a hand against the younger man's shoulder, peering out from under the edge of his helmet. "You look worried about something. It's written all over your face, Engie. C'mon, let's step outside where it's not so damned dusty."

"It ain't anythin' I oughta complain t' you about," he said quietly, but Soldier was already steering him out of the penthouse. There were a few fold-out chairs on the roof, and they set them outside the penthouse door, then settled down to enjoy the night breeze.

Soldier cleared his throat, looking at the shorter man with a serious expression. "Private! Have I ever forbid you from complaining to me about anything?"

This took Engineer by surprise, and he actually had to think a moment before he could answer. "Well, hell no... I mean, you know me. I think pissin' and moanin' about every little thing is a waste of time. If there's a problem serious enough to complain about, you oughta' be out doin' something about it instead."

"I like that about you, private," Soldier said, patting Engineer on the back. "You don't do half as much bellyaching as anyone else on this team. Maybe even less! As a matter of fact, I can't even remember the last time I heard you bitch about anything. So I'm pretty sure I can forgive you if there's something you've got to get off your chest."

Engineer gave a long, low sigh. "I reckon I've done all I can about this, at least 'til we ship out... shoot, I guess it won't hurt ta talk about it. I'm just worried about my buddy Sniper, lost out there in the middle of God-knows-what. I mean, he- he's a big boy, I know he can handle himself. Guess I'm just thinkin' too much about all the things that won't kill a man right away, but'll make him wish it had. Bear traps. Poisonous animals. Exposure."

Soldier lifted his helmet off and scratched his head, frowning pensively. He knew the Texan's genius sometimes manifested in this kind of over-imaginative thinking, but it was something that Engineer usually managed to keep to himself. (When benzedrine isn't involved, at least.) This didn't sound like drug-induced rambling, so Soldier decided not to treat it as such. He was still a little confused by the extent of Engineer's worries, though. "Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into that. You didn't spend the whole evening thinking of ways the kiwi could mangle himself out there, did you?"

"What? Oh, no, I've been workin' on something. I'll hafta show you, once it's good and ready. I just... dammit, these thoughts just keep popping up in my head." Engineer chugged the last of his beer, then set the bottle down and looked strangely small.

(Would he worry about me like that?) Soldier wondered, then tried to push the thought from his head. It made him feel stupid to think such things. He straightened his posture and said, "Chin up, private! You know that Sniper's spent more time crawling around jungles than the rest of us combined. Him and Spy are both good at keeping out of sight. It's why we sent them there in the first place! I have confidence in the man, and you should too."

"Yer right, of course. I mean, I know he's an experienced survivalist. ...say, I'm gonna pick up a few beers from that canteen downstairs, and take 'em back to our room. You wanna come with me?" The Texan seemed less anxious than before, and as he thought of the situation they were currently in, Soldier decided that this was probably the most productive way he could spend the rest of the night.

"I'd never turn down an invitation from you, Engie! C'mon, let's get down off this rooftop..."

* * *

The only people in the cantina were Pyro and Demoman, and a tourist couple who seemed baffled by the mercenaries. The Scotsman was sleeping amidst an assortment of empty glasses, but Pyro half-turned and waved to his teammates as they walked in.

"Hey there, Pyro!" Engineer greeted him, smiling.

Soldier straightened up and tapped the brim of his helmet, then shouted, "At ease, private!"

The firebug was hard to understand as always, but he sounded like he was in a good mood. "Grrd hmmphlm! Drrg hffy grrd drr shrrflrrm?"

After taking a moment to decipher that statement, the mechanic nodded. "Seems they did. We'll have a safe place to touch down when we ship out tomorrow morning, thanks to them."

Deep down, Pyro was probably a little disappointed that napalm hadn't been instrumental in the mission so far. He sighed wistfully, but gave the others an encouraging thumbs-up. As Engineer bought a six-pack of lager from the canteen, Soldier stepped up beside Pyro and clapped a hand firmly against his rubber-suited shoulder.

"Yeah, son, I know what you're thinkin'. We're all chomping at the bit to get out there and raise some hell. You just make sure the Cyclops gets to his bed in one piece, then go catch yourself some shut-eye. Come hell or high water, we are going to be on that island no later than sunrise!"

* * *

Soldier opened the balcony door to let a breeze in, then kicked his boots off and flopped back on one of the beds. He smiled as Engineer sat down beside him with the six-pack in hand, feeling particularly glad for the man's friendship. "Well, that's that for today, I guess. Pisses me off to think there's nothing I could have done to change the way it happened... bah, at least one good thing's come out of this."

Engineer propped a pillow against the headboard and leaned back against it, giving Soldier a curious look as he cracked open a beer. "What'd that be, Sarge?"

The mission was weighing heavily on Soldier's mind, compounding his frustration. The last place he wanted to be during this sort of operation was mission control, sitting on his thumbs while his teammates got all the action. Unexpected catastrophe had only added to Soldier's desire to get out into the field. With two men missing and the rest of the group divided up, he was impatient to rally his team and crush the enemy. If everything had gone according to plan, of course, he would have been on the island by nightfall. But now, even though he was stuck waiting at the hotel, Soldier could see a positive side to the situation. He reached across Engineer's back and gave the Texan a clumsy hug. "Since we've got to wait 'til tomorrow anyhow, it means you and me can have a couple beers and get a good night's sleep."

"Right now, I think gettin' my mind off these troubles is definitely the best thing I could be doing." Engineer looked up at Soldier, smiling softly, and passed a bottle to him. "Cheers, buddy."

They drank for a while and enjoyed each other's company, not saying much, but not feeling the need to. The warmth of his teammate's presence helped Soldier think less about the day's events. Leaning back against the pillows, with Engineer's head resting on his shoulder, he felt as though he could fall asleep right there - in his uniform and everything. Even though there were worries on both of their minds, there was something about being with Engineer that made him certain things would work out in the end. He didn't know if it was the beer or the company he was in, but a comfortable heat was brewing in the pit of Soldier's stomach. Feeling confused but happy, he finally drifted off.

* * *

The camouflaged Huey and its occupants had survived the night unmolested, and a burst of static jarred them from sleep. Scout groaned and hunched his shoulders, hoping someone else would rise to deal with the radio console, but his teammates were conspiring against him. On the other side of Heavy's massive bulk, he could see Medic stir a little. The doctor's voice was muffled. "...answer ze verdammt radio, boy..."

"Fuckin' asshole..." Scout grumbled and forced himself up, then crawled forwards into the driver's seat. The headphones buzzed again, and he pulled them over his hat, yawning as he answered the radio's summons. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. What's up?"

Soldier's voice came through. "Scout! We are currently inbound! E.T.A.: one hour! What is your team's status?"

"Uh... nothin' new here, man. Those lazy bastards are still asleep." Scout shifted the headset off and grinned as he heard Soldier's yelling. The tinny, distorted quality of the older man's voice seemed hilarious at this time of day. He could almost imagine there was a miniature Soldier in the radio, jumping up and down and screaming angrily.

"Wake them up! All of you should be out there patrolling the landing zone, RIGHT NOW!"

"Sure, I'll-hey, you wanna' talk to them right now? I can put the Doc on; he's moving a little. Maybe you oughta' tell him to get off his ass. He never listens to me..." Scout glanced over his shoulder and leered at Medic, who was definitely waking up now, and not in the mood to get bawled out by Soldier. The German glared and shook his head vigorously, then drew a slash line across his throat and pointed meaningfully at Scout.

"I'm sure you can pass on my instructions yourself, maggot! Stop wasting time, and SECURE THE DAMN STAGING AREA! If we get shot down on the way in, I swear in the name of God and all that is holy, I will jump out of this helicopter and stomp your lazy asses into the ground! SOLDIER OUT!"

The radio squealed sharply as the transmission ended, and Scout gave a yelp of pain. "Ow! Fuckin' feedback... were you slobs listening? We better make sure nobody came through here in the night." He looked over at his older teammates, who were finally rousing themselves from the back of the helicopter. Scout sighed and put the earphones down, yawning as he did so. Even huddled beside the gigantic Russian for warmth, he hadn't slept all that well. Deciding that he couldn't afford the fatigue right now, he clambered back and fished a can of soda out of his pack, then chugged it. The double-whammy of sugar and caffeine began to take hold on him, and he immediately found himself itching to escape the confines of the UH-1.

"That ve are still here is a good sign, ja? I don't suppose ze enemy vould heff come through here overnight..." Medic was cleaning his glasses on his shirtfront, and struggling not to yawn. He squinted myopically at Scout, then Heavy. "Zere are many plants in this part of ze world that can kill a man, or incapacitate him vith excruciating pain. If you feel ze need to supplement your rations vith some of ze local flora, take my advice: unless it looks like a banana, don't touch it."

"Yeah, I got it... sheesh, you think I'm a fuckin' two-year-old or somethin'?" Scout rolled his eyes as he pulled the door open, and stepped out into the misty clearing. "I'm gonna go take a leak. I'll letchya know if I see anything wierd."

The sun had not yet risen, but Scout could see the world around him growing brighter by degrees. He was tempted to just run around and see if he could find any trouble, but common sense managed to override his boredom. Instead, he just wandered back into the banana grove they'd denuded, and relieved himself on a tree trunk. (Geeze, I thought hiding out in the jungle would be a lot cooler. This has just been like a real lame camping trip, so far. Didn't even bring any fuckin' marshmallows to roast.)

As Scout mulled about the mosquitoes and the bad weather, a rustling sound caught his attention. Instinct kicked in, and he went stock-still, eyes wide, scanning the trees for movement. Before he could see who was coming, he could hear them. Two people were on approach to the clearing, neither of whom was making any effort to hide their presence.

(They don't know we're here. Better go tell the others. ...or maybe I'll eavesdrop, see if I can figure out who they are...) Crouching down amongst the undergrowth, Scout summoned all his self-control, and managed to remain silent and still while the intruders came into view.

A hot jolt of alarm went off in his chest. Between the trees, the two people passed by in ignorance of Scout's presence, and he was suddenly struggling to make sense of the mission, the intel, and what he was seeing. (What the fuck is he doing here?)

They were RED mercenaries, there was no doubt of that. One of them was a stranger to Scout: a huge man in the uniform of a heavy weapons specialist, sans flak jacket, with a dingy rag tied over his bald scalp. The other was a wiry youth with black hair, wearing shorts and a black t-shirt. He was a year older than Scout. It was with a sudden roll of nostalgia and horror that he realized who this motherfucker was. His name was Andy. He was from the same neighborhood as Scout, had gone to the same school, and signed up to work for the same company because it was safer than being drafted.

He spoke to the big man as they trundled through the undergrowth. "Y'see, I told ya we're not gettin' any action out here. Fuckin' Colonel Sanders gets to run around outside all day, and what's he tell us? 'Durr, we can't afford to lose any more men. Don't leave the compound.' But when there's grunt-work ta do? Bam! 'Tex lost a sentry and he's too busy to leave, so you two go cut it up for scrap!' Fuck, man..."

"Sentry never destroys itself. Other men are on this island, now. Soon, we have killing to do." The Heavy was carrying something. As Scout got a better look, he realized it was a pair of fire axes. Probably for tearing down what was left of that sentry. Hopefully, not for chopping through his ribs.

(Okay, so these other RED guys came here to salvage metal. For the Engineer on their team. Right. So he can build more stuff. Like sentries. Like the sentry thing that shot down one of OUR helicopters, and tried to fuckin' KILL me yesterday. Why the hell are other RED company mercs trying to kill us?) Finding the neighborhood bully on a tropical island was weird, but it was the least baffling aspect of the situation... and, the least worrisome.

Andy and the big Slav failed to notice Scout, for which he was quietly grateful. He watched as they moved out into the clearing, passing within twenty feet of the camouflaged Huey; whether it was blind luck or a lack of wariness on the intruders' part, the helicopter did not attract any attention, and Scout could still hear them talking as they disappeared from view.

Creeping out from behind the foliage, Scout discovered a muddy pathway that led into the jungle-the route those strange mercenaries had been walking when he first spotted them. He tried to remember the map of the island, and was now wishing that he had done more than glance at it a few times. (The estate's gotta be in that direction... I think.) Peering off towards the clearing, he frowned, then set off in pursuit of the two interlopers.

When Scout came up alongside the helicopter, he peered inside, half-expecting to see something unspeakable. He found that Heavy and Medic were just sharing something from the ration pack, though, and breathed a secret sigh of relief. (Spy said they're like, boyfriend and girlfriend or something. Gross. Maybe he was just making that shit up, but I don't ever wanna catch those guys necking. Or worse.) He shuddered at the thought, then knocked on the window. When Heavy looked over his way, he held up two fingers, then pointed in the direction he'd seen the other men heading. Deciding that was enough of an explanation, Scout left his teammates and hurried off into the clearing.

Andy was still talking loudly as Scout caught up to him and the 'do-rag wearing Heavy. "...think it's fuckin' treasure in there? That's the only thing that makes sense, ain't it? I mean, nobody would go through that much trouble to lock up, I dunno, catacombs or some shit. And remember the letters carved into that door? 'R.C.' Like, 'Roman Catholic'. Or 'R.C. Cola'... nah, that doesn't make sense. I bet it's somethin' from the Vatican! Mom always told me the Pope's got a shitload of treasure from, like, back when the church useta' own everything. Even one fuckin' piece of that stuff would be priceless."

"Engineer promised us we are rich for life, if we do this thing," the bigger man rumbled, sounding weary and despondent. "Now we wait on this island to die, while he hides down there all day, saying he needs more time to open the way in."

"What's got you all bitched up, man? So we lost a couple guys. So what? I never liked that French fuck, anyhow. We're better off without him. Though I gotta' admit, the way he went was kinda gruesome. ...but hey, it proved that those pit traps work. What'd the kangaroo-fucker call those things? Punjab sticks?"

"Punji sticks."

None of this conversation made much sense to Scout, and by eavesdropping, he found himself with more questions than answers. As they reached the site of the destroyed sentry, Scout realized he was running short on cover. He huddled behind a thick clump of succulents, and swore as he found he had rubbed up against something covered in countless wicked spines.

The huge mercenary went still, and set down one of the fire axes he'd been carrying. "Quiet. I hear something ."

"Huh? What?" Andy, a lad no older than twenty one, who had been a RED scout himself, with whom Scout had never traded anything worse than punches and foul language, now picked up an axe; Scout realized in an instant that if the other boy found him, he was going to kill him.

(Or try to kill me, anyhow,) Scout thought, and a tense smile tugged at his face. He just had to get the jump on them. (Okay, so it's two against one. They've got fuckin' axes. I've got a gun. I'd better go after big dude first... if I can get him good right off the bat, he'll be dead, or at least too crippled to give me much trouble.)

They had split off and were approaching from either side of the cactus growth, leaving Scout in an uncomfortable position-whoever he attacked, his back would be exposed to the other one. Hoping his teammates would show up soon, he turned in the Slav's direction and charged out from under cover, unloading his scattergun at the unsuspecting man. "Surprise, dumbass!" Scout's target roared in pain, crying blood. They were only separated by a distance of five or six feet. Way too close for comfort. As the injured Heavy took a swing with his axe, it was suddenly apparent to Scout that he had should have waited for backup.

The blade ripped through his left forearm, cutting to the bone. He gave a whoop of pain and scrambled back, horribly aware that he couldn't fire a scattergun one-handed, let alone reload it in a hurry. Out the corner of his eye, Scout caught a glimpse of movement; he half-turned and lunged off to one side, narrowly avoiding the axe that Andy had just tried to bury between his shoulders.

"What the fuck are you doin' here, you son of a whore?" Andy seemed surprised to see a familiar face, but not too surprised to keep attacking Scout.

The black-haired youth hacked viciously at him, but the Scout was damned and determined to save his hide from any further damage, and bounded off into the bushes. "Too slow, shit-head! C'mon, just try to catch me!" Scout yelled, feeling electrified by the adrenaline in his veins. He knew he couldn't take down the other mercenaries on his own, now, but he was hardly spent. Gritting his teeth from the pain, he managed to stow the gun in his pack without stopping, and wondered if the noise was enough for Heavy and Medic to find him by. "Come and get me, faggot!"

Somewhere far behind him, Andy's teammate was bellowing, his face full of buckshot. Scout was pretty confident that the guy wouldn't be too dangerous now. At least, not from a distance. (I remember Sniper talking about people hunting rhinos and elephants and shit, how sometimes they just get more pissed off and violent if you shoot them. Did I just piss off that big guy even more? ...well, he probably can't do much with no gun, and half his face missing. They'll just hafta put him down like a rabid dog.) The thought of a crazed giant chasing him with an axe was a little scary, but his real problem right now was the other boy. Scout was peering through the bushes in search of his own teammates when a root snagged his ankle, and he toppled forwards into the foliage.

Andy gave a barbaric scream and came crashing after him, like some kind of beardless Celtic warrior out for blood in the pre-dawn mist. Scout rolled onto his back, and as the blade's flash sent instinctive dread down his spine, he swept one of his long legs upwards and caught his would-be executioner in the solar plexus. The boy and the axe went flying.

When Scout had returned himself to an upright position, he saw Andy trying to wrestle the weapon free from a prickly pear's woody undergrowth. (Guess it would've been too much trouble for him to land on that fuckin' thing,) he thought, then lunged at his assailant and hooked his right arm around the older scout's neck. Faced with the prospect of strangulation, Andy let go of his axe and aimed a savage donkey-kick at Scout's shin. They fell to the ground and immediately began a more vicious, dangerous sort of brawl than any they'd had in their old schoolyard.

Scout was feeling very much at home with the situation, as though in the middle of the jungle, he had found himself in familiar territory. "Gonna' beat you like your dad beats your mom, cocksucker!" he spat, splitting his knuckles on Andy's front teeth.

"I'll fuckin' kill you!" Andy grabbed Scout's wounded arm and gave it a hard twist, drawing a howl of pain from its owner. Using this distraction to his advantage, he shoved Scout down and began choking the life out of him.

All the altercations Scout had ever had in his old neighbourhood were starting to look like good fun by comparison. As darkness began to creep at the corners of his eyes, he tightened his fist and furiously slugged at the older boy's face. Andy lurched with each blow, dripping blood and snot, but held on with relentless and murderous intent. Then a shotgun barked twice, and Scout found he could breathe again.

He struggled onto hands and knees, choking but alive, and tried to figure out what had just happened. An awful noise scraped at his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. Scout realized it was Andy, screaming as he crashed away through the bushes. Half of Andy's forearm was lying in the dirt nearby. After staring dizzily at the freckled, blood-spattered stump for a second, Scout lurched to his feet and tried not to throw up. He could see Heavy standing nearby with shotgun in hand, and Medic appeared alongside the big Russian, wide-eyed with concern.

"You should have vaited for us," the doctor hissed. "Were zere others vith him?"

"No time to explain, Doc'," Scout coughed, and gestured in the direction he'd come running. "You guys finish off the big motherfucker over there, I think he's shot up pretty good. I'm gonna' get that bastard!" With that, Scout took off in pursuit of the maimed youth, leaving his teammates to wonder what had just happened and who the hell that other Scout was.


	6. For My Sins

( _Author's note: The scene in a previous chapter was the first place I encountered what has been the biggest annoyance for me, in writing this story: dealing with scenes where there is more than one character who is a scout/spy/heavy/whatever. It's the reason I chose to give the maverick group's scout a name of his own- that is, Andy. The problem resurfaced again in this scene, so I decided to use another means of helping myself, and the reader, keep ourselves from getting confused between RED Spy and BLU Spy- I gave the BLU one a different sort of French accent. I don't know if anyone would consider the named mercenaries or Québécois!BLU Spy to be "original characters", but I really don't myself._

_The French phrases that BLU Spy uses are French-Canadian colloquialisms. Basically, he's just swearing._)

* * *

Sniper was waking up gradually, fighting to gather inertia in the face of multitudinous physical complaints. He hadn't even opened his eyes yet, and he was already wondering if he should have fallen asleep at all. (I used to be able to catch a wink anywhere, now look at me... must be turning into an old man. One night on a hard floor, and every joint in my body's aching. Crashing that helicopter yesterday probably didn't help, either.) Although he knew lying in one place wouldn't solve anything, Sniper felt so sore and tired that he was tempted to try and drift off again. His stomach growled audibly. (Christ, I should just put my clothes on, go take a piss, then look for food. I hope bananas are enough to keep a grown man's strength up.)

Opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was the back of Spy's balaclava-clad cranium. No big surprise. Sniper was pretty confident the other man would keep mum about what they'd done the night before. (Both of us were cold and drunk, and he's learned his lesson about blackmailing me.) Thoughts of Engineer trickled through his mind, and he suddenly found himself feeling terrible for having gone M.I.A. in the first place. (My God, he's probably worried sick about me. I have be careful, have to get myself back to him in one piece. ...what if I've gotten too relaxed about my survival since I started working for RED? Could they have lied to us about the respawn system? One wrong move, and I could wind up like that poor sod we found yesterday...)

Trying to push these worries out of his mind, Sniper sat up groggily, then froze as he heard someone speak. "It's about goddamn time you slobs woke up. I t'ought I might have to just leave wit' all your stuff."

Alarm tore through Sniper's body like a bolt of lightning; even in the dim light, it was apparent that the two RED mercenaries had been relieved of their equipment. He rose to a crouch and glared at the intruder, trying to find words as he reached for Spy's shoulder and shook the masked man. "We've got an intruder," Sniper hissed.

Seated on the opposite side of the barn, outside the office-space but in full view, was a thin man in a blue, pinstriped suit. A spy belonging to the enemy team, no doubt. Even with a balaclava covering his face, Sniper recognized this one. They had traded enough verbal abuse (and stab wounds) that his galling Québécois accent was unforgettable. Right now, the BLU spy was observing them with a smug expression, no doubt gloating over the heap of weapons he had confiscated. "What kind of survival expert packs a bottle of Tanqueray, but forgets to bring any kind of rations, eh? I was hoping I could steal somet'ing better den bananas from you. Hostie des bananes..."

Sniper's teammate had only taken a moment to wake up after hearing another person in the room. Now he was doing his best to keep cool, although his success was somewhat limited. Even Spy had a hard time looking composed in nothing but underwear and a mask. His cloaking device was still present, but with the enemy's eyes on him, he probably couldn't use it to much effect. "Fils de putain... By ze fact zat we are still alive, I assume you want something more of us than our belongings?"

"Give da man a prize. I want you chumps to listen to me, for a start. You've got no reason to believe a word I say, but... well, take da fact you're still alive as a show of fait', eh?"

"Go on, then," Sniper growled, and tried to find a more comfortable way to sit on the cold concrete floor. Beside him, Spy was watching his BLU counterpart with an impassive expression, probably wracking his brain for a way to turn the situation around.

"I was going to kill you guys when I found you last night, but I decided to listen a while first. I t'ought you were wit' da other ones here, you see? But now it's starting to make more sense to me. Everyt'ing is. You don't even know why you got sent here in da first place, do you?"

The BLU agent's teeth seemed to gleam in the early-morning gloom. Sniper didn't know if he was waiting for an answer, but the fact that they'd been found and didn't even know it sent hot prickles up the Australian's spine. "How long've you been following us?"

"Following? Haha, I haven't followed you a step. I was in here da whole time, tête carré. ...dat was a nice bit of, uh-" He flashed a grin, and made an obscene jerking motion with his fist.

RED Spy suddenly seemed to convulse with anger, and grabbed Sniper's shoulder, digging in his fingertips. "You disgusting, underhanded voyeur! If you 'ave taken more photographs of me, I assure you, your punishment will be twice as painful as ze last..."

"Maybe I have. I t'ink you've got bigger problems den dat right now, eh? How about surviving da next 24 hours? Da plantation is a warzone from here on in, you just can't hear it."

Sniper didn't like the turn this conversation was taking, but the Québécois' warning about the territory they were in got his mind back on track. "How d'you mean that? Is it mined? We 'aven't seen any-" He was going say "fighting", but Spy's grip tightened.

Without moving his lips, he whispered, "Tell him nothing."

The marksman clammed up, but it didn't seem to rouse much suspicion from their unwanted guest. "Of course you haven't. Nobody plants land mines where you're going to see dem. Da whole Goddamn jungle is full of traps; I spotted a couple, and I wasn't going to take a chance at finding more da hard way. Dere's a shortcut to da main complex which should be safe, but you're never going to find it on your own." He tapped his left temple with a gloved fingertip, and added, "I already know where it is."

"You're expecting us to walk ahead of you in case you're wrong? Is that it?" Sniper's lip curled in an expression of incredulity.

The BLU spy laughed. "Dat's a good idea, but no. Right now, you're no good to me if you're dead." After pausing to light a new cigarette, he took in a lungful of smoke and frowned. "I need manpower. I've been watching carefully since I got here, and da only ones I've seen so far are dat crazy soldier and his little sidekick. You two gave me a scare when I first saw you, I t'ought you were wit' dem."

"What about your mates? They all fall in a hole somewhere?"

He sniffed irritably. "You saw da wreckage coming in, I heard you mention it last night. Only two of us lived t'rough it, and dat son of a bitch got da other guy. He patrols da island. It's probably dumb luck dat he didn't find you."

"Who, the soldier you were spying on? Oi- that crash was still burning when we passed by it! How the hell 'ave you been all over this place, in the time it took us to just get here?"

"How fucking stupid are you, tête carré? I know my way around here because I've been stationed on dis island before. We fought over da plantation about two years ago. It went on for mont's. Dere was somet'ing dat made our electronics keep fucking up; our engineer could never get his teleporters to work right, da radio was always piping out dis weird static, computers burned demselves out... shit like dat. Everyone just sort of gave up after a while. I guess da REDs here were having problems, too." It was entirely possible that the BLU spy was lying, but his joual drawl sounded unusually serious. "Dey said we'd come back once someone figured out where dat electrical interference was coming from."

Spy's fingers dug into Sniper's shoulder again. He was troubled, his mind racing to analyze all this new information and determine how much of it might be true. "Ze other men you 'ave seen, were they ze same ones you fought before, when you were 'ere?"

There was an expression of vague disgust on the BLU spy's face; he seemed intrinsically repulsed to be answering his counterpart's questions. This suggested there was truth to his words, though- he wouldn't have been troubled by lying to a RED employee. "Yeah. My team hasn't been pitted against dat cohort since, though. Da last time I saw dem was on dis island."

(If that mush-mouthed little ponce isn't lying, then what does this mean for us? I've got to try and piece this all together...) As he listened to the enemy spy, Sniper was also thinking hard about these revelations. (So, our company sends a team of mercenaries to fight over this old banana farm. Their machines are acting shonky the whole time they're here, and they unanimously decide to put it off for the time being. Two years later they send us here to establish a fresh staging area, one that's outside of the plantation. We're shot down, along with a team of BLUs- by one of the RED fighters who was originally stationed on the island, if this spy is to be believed.)

"What is it you want us to do?" Spy asked. Sniper kept his face impassive as he waited for an answer; he was prepared to cooperate as long as was necessary to get their weapons back, but it was hard to imagine that the BLU agent had anything good in mind for them.

"Were you listening? I need backup, here. Manpower. Dere's a crazy motherfucker wit' a rocket launcher out dere, and I can't get close enough to put him out of my misery."

"Perhaps you should leave 'im to a more skilled assassin? Return my equipment to me, Mssr., and I will solve zis problem of yours." Spy folded his hands together and gave a patronizing smile, which didn't seem to improve the other man's mood.

"A skilled assassin wouldn't be begging in his underwear! Crisse le camp, just see how far you'll get wit' no fucking weapons. ...dis soldier, he's not like da one you guys work wit'. He's, uh... he's like a fucking cat, eh? Not'ing gets past dis guy. Maybe he fought in da jungle before, I don't know, but I could never sneak up on him," the French Canadian hissed, then straightened his tie and resumed studying the two REDs.

"We're not great friends here, but unless you want to step on a land mine, you're going to have to work wit' me. Whatever dey are up to, it's got somet'ing to do wit' da manor dis estate was built around. Da soldier went in and out a couple times, and da only time I saw anyone else was when his engineer came outside wit' him to share a smoke. We get in dere, we can kill da little guy, den wait for da soldier to turn up and kill him too. ...I don't t'ink he's crazy enough to use his rocket launcher indoors." The BLU agent flicked away his cigarette butt, then grabbed the stolen bottle of gin and took a swig. He regarded the other men with a deadpan look on his face. "So, are you in?"

Sniper and Spy glanced at each other, both sensing a sort of defeat. Whether the man in blue was being honest or not, agreeing was the only way they could get their weapons back. "Seein' as we've got so much choice in the matter, I reckon we'll have to say 'yes'. Now are you gonna pull a gun on me if I move, or can I go get my bloody clothes on?"

"Yeah, yeah." The intruder made a dismissive gesture, and busied himself with another cigarette. "Put some pants on, tête carré, I'm tired of looking at your balls. You too, De Gaulle. I'll hang onto your toys until I'm good and ready to hand dem over..."

* * *

Feeling tired, sore and irritable, Sniper followed the BLU spy down a narrow path, with his teammate close behind. He was sorely tempted to jump the thief and reclaim his belongings, but the chance of stumbling onto land mines without the BLU's guidance loomed large in his mind. At any rate, the Canadian seemed to know more about this terrain than the map did, and he was taking up the most dangerous position in their formation. (I suppose he doesn't think we're likely to be attacked yet. If someone pops up and shoots him, we'll get our things back...) The thought made Sniper smile a little, in spite of everything. Trying to ignore the breakfast of half-ripe bananas that was making his stomach cramp, he peered around the dense stand of trees they were walking through, tensely aware that any oversight could have lethal consequences. As he glanced underfoot, Sniper realized that the walkway they were on was recent construction, a long slab of cement that was already under assault by lianas and the roots of trees.

They walked in silence. Sniper knew the value of keeping mute under these circumstances, perhaps even more than the two spies. He'd learned the hard way that the most dangerous animals you'll meet in the jungle are other humans. (Won't let that happen again. I doubt these yobs would see a reason to take me hostage, anyhow. They'd just shoot me.) Still, he was aching to milk the BLU spy for more information. He wondered how to broach the topic of respawn without revealing any of their own discoveries to the enemy.

As they came around a curve in the path, a squat concrete shed could be seen just ahead. It looked to Sniper like a shelter for pumping equipment or generators, but unexpectedly, the BLU agent spoke.

"Our respawn room was down here. Dis is like, uh... like da service entrance, eh? It joins to a tunnel dat comes out in da middle of da compound. Da whole t'ing is sealed off to REDs- but I can get you in." He wrenched open a rusty circuit box by the door, and fussed over something inside for a few moments, using his body to shield it from the others. Some hidden piece of machinery whirred and groaned inside the wall, then the door panel shuddered, and slid aside to admit the three men. "You guys wanna get locked out? Vas-y!" he hissed, and was suddenly ushering Sniper in through the door.

Sniper stumbled into the building, cursing and feeling a bit rattled. (Where'd that bastard get the nerve to shove me?) He found himself in a short hallway that ended in a round hatch, with a ladder connecting to whatever was below. Everything was gray concrete and wrought iron; the air had a choking, musty stench to it, but lacked the distinctive foetor of death. "Urrgh, what's that pong? It's like a bleedin' sewer down here," he grunted, tentatively descending the ladder.

He gave a gasp of shock as he felt his boots plunge into ankle-deep water. When his eyes had adjusted to the dim emergency lightning, Sniper realized he was standing in a respawn room quite similar to all the others he'd seen. There was a grated hole in the middle of the room, no doubt a drain to facilitate cleaning and maintenance, but rainfall had backed-up the disused outpost's plumbing. Now the chamber was flooded and the walls dripped with condensation, rotting away some old signs and posters that were left behind. His voice sounded strange to him in that murky, confined space. "What happened to the respawn machines on the island?"

RED Spy grunted in disgust as he came off the ladder, and the other masked man followed. "What da fuck do you t'ink happened to dem? We took all our expensive equipment when we left dis shit-hole. Good t'ing, too, it probably wouldn't work after marinating here for two years wit'out maintenance." He knocked a fist against the grimy wall and sighed, his expression lost in the gloom. "Yeah, we're at da mercy of company satellites out here. If I bite da big one, I'll probably wake up in goddamn New Mexico."

The two RED mercenaries traded meaningful, uncertain glances through the dark. This went unnoticed by their guide, who was already leaving the flooded room. The hall beyond was similarly dingy, and as Sniper hurried to follow, he wrinkled his nose at the mildew smell that seemed to pervade everything around them. "Did you blokes not think to rip out th' carpeting in here? I've been in cisterns that smelled better."

"If da guy who collects his own piss can't stomach a little mold, he can take da lead and get out of here first. I'll even give you your weapons back, how's dat?" The BLU spy was suddenly rifling through Sniper's rucksack, handing over the bushman's tools.

He accepted them with a bewildered expression on his face. "Right. Well then, I'll just... alright. Oi, how 'bout the whole bag? I've got ammunition in there."

The Québécois grabbed RED Spy and shoved him up alongside Sniper, then pressed the rucksack into its original owner's grasp. "Fine. But you two are walking in front of me. You try anyt'ing funny, I'll blow your brains out. Now move- it's straight from here to da exit."

Caught between relief and suspicion, Sniper handed over Spy's equipment, then started down the hallway. He could see BLU control rooms to either side of him, long-since denuded of the computers they had once held, now filling with water like the rest of the building. (Was this even on the map? Dammit, I'm kicking myself for not having memorized the bloody thing.) Sniper had no idea where they were in relation to the main compound, or the dilapidated mansion that lay beyond. As he approached a heavy shutter, he cleared his throat and asked, "Once we're out of here, what's the safest route to the big house? Is the combat zone out there full of booby-traps, too?"

"I'll take da lead when we get dere," the BLU spy said tersely. "I don't trust you bastards with my back turned, but, uh... you can't really afford to find your own way by trial and error, eh? Watching dat soldier has given me a pretty good idea where it's safe to walk. Well, aside from da risk of running into him. Dere are a couple of sentries, but we can disable dem."

The shutter was unresponsive at first, and Sniper found himself eyeballing the bottom edge for hand-holds while his teammate hummed impatiently. Then the Canadian caught up with them, and after emitting a groan of protest, the metal doorway began lifting up into the ceiling.

"Allez-y, it won't stay open once I've gone t'rough."

"Right, right," Sniper growled, and ducked to hurry through the door. The tunnel continued beyond it, but parted off in several directions; straight ahead, he could see a short passage that opened onto an overgrown courtyard. A mess of dead leaves littered the floor, and as Sniper crept over them, he suddenly felt something shift underfoot. He heard the dull, metallic "clunk" of a pressure plate.

What happened next was a blur. The world spun crazily before his eyes as something struck him from behind, hurling him off his feet. He heard RED Spy give a snarl, and as he went flying towards the ground, Sniper realized it was his teammate that had thrown him. Then there was an explosion that left his ears ringing, and the second he crashed to the ground, the Australian was scrambling to turn back and see what had happened.

"Merde... zis was not really 'ow I wanted to go," muttered the RED agent, who was now lying in a heap amongst the debris. He stiffened and groaned in pain as Sniper tried to prop him against the wall in a sitting pose. "D-don't."

"Oh Christ, mate, your feet..." Sniper was wide-eyed with horror as he realized the extent of Spy's wounds. The masked man's right leg was missing below the knee, and his other foot had apparently joined it in oblivion. As the other spy rushed over, Sniper found himself clutching his injured teammate in a desperate hug, his mind racing for any other course of action than abandonment. "We've gotta get you out of here, I won't- I mean, this is really bad, I can't just leave you for dead. This could be it, mate."

The BLU spy swore as he surveyed the damage. His RED counterpart just grimaced, and hitched in a shaky breath of blood-tinged air. "I will die just as quickly 'ere as I would slowing you down, mon chou. ...just go. Zere is really- nnh- nothing you can do to 'elp it." He looked up at Sniper through slitted eyes, and seemed to struggle to show some expression other than one of agony. "I wasn't really thinking straight, but maybe... zis is for ze better. It would 'ave been you, otherwise, yes? Fuck, ze pain is terrible. ...just live to tell ze others what 'appened. Maybe- agh, maybe 'e will find it in 'im to forgive me, for what I did." Spy went rigid in the marksman's arms, choking on his words as he tried not to cry out.

"Goddammit, we don't have time for dis! He's fucked, we've got to leave him and get moving." Shaken by the trap that had been laid for them, BLU Spy was lighting a fresh cigarette and lapsing into impatience.

Sniper felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. He glared at the other team's spy, and swallowed back the hard knot that had formed in his throat. "I'm not ditching my own bloody teammate! Don't you know how serious this is? Our-" Hot needles seemed to run down his spine, and he winced, tightening his grip on the penitent Spy. "We found someone dead, alright? A demoman! Out here! Those bastards must've lied when they said respawn could catch us from so far away!"

"Are you sure? Fuck, dat's a risk we'll have to take," BLU Spy spat, then drew his gun and took aim at the wounded man's head. Sniper's limbs seemed to freeze solid.

"...fils de putain," murmured the Frenchman.

BLU Spy pulled the trigger.

* * *

Before they saw the man Scout had been talking about, they could hear him; in the bushes nearby, someone big was moving around, taking pained breaths with each step. Medic had pulled out his healing gun when the first sounds of fighting were heard, but now he found himself wondering if he shouldn't equip a more dangerous tool. "Even if ze enemy is wounded, ve should still move carefully," he whispered, scrutinizing their surroundings for any signs of movement.

"Yes. I only hear one shot before ve find Scout... you think this man have no gun?" Heavy seemed wary but confident, holding his sidearm at the ready. With so many large plants obscuring their view, close-quarters combat was a strong likelihood.

Medic sighed uncertainly, and tried to determine the wounded man's position by sound. The crunching of undergrowth had stilled, though, and the laboured panting could barely be heard now. He clearly knew they were hunting for him, which meant one of two things to Medic: either their quarry was cowering in fear, or lying in ambush. Medic didn't like the latter possibility.

"Scout and other tiny man vere fighting bare-handed," the Russian murmured. His height gave him a better view over the bushes, but he had yet to spot anything that roused his suspicion.

"It vould be safer to assume our enemy is armed and dangerous, mein schatz. ...hmm, vas ist-" In the gap between two dense tufts of pampas, Medic thought he could see an unusual shadow. He stepped nearer and pushed the barrel of his Medi-gun into the foliage, then pushed it aside.

As cavalier as he could be at times, Medic was still a very well-educated man, and he was always very precise about monitoring the state of his health. While he could no longer called himself youthful, his body was in excellent shape, both outside and inside- so he knew it was highly unlikely that his heart would fail as the result of an alarming discovery, no matter how grave. Nonetheless, he definitely felt like his heart had stopped dead when he parted the grass, and saw a huge man with an axe lunging at him.

The first blow whistled past Medic's face as he scrambled back, lifting the Medi-gun up to try and shield his body. "Helfen Sie!" he yelped, and managed to deflect the blade with his healing ray-gun. He could hear Heavy roar as the Russian spotted their enemy, but his gunshots were not enough to slow Medic's pain-crazed accoster down.

The Medi-gun was knocked from his hands by the next strike, and as Heavy's shotgun bought him a moment of distraction, Medic hastily drew his Vita-saw and plunged it into his attacker's sizable gut. The stranger bellowed in fury and punched Medic in the teeth, knocking him onto his back.

The next few moments of Medic's life were his inauguration into a world of pain. He could see Heavy nearby, firing round after round of double-aught into the third man, then dropping his shotgun and moving in to try and wrestle his weapon away. Their enemy had clearly reached a state of superhuman rage, though, and all the pain and ghastly wounds Heavy could inflict were not enough to keep him from gutting the unfortunate doctor. By the time Heavy had pulled his opponent away from Medic, the older man had been thoroughly savaged, lying in a pool of his own blood as viscera sagged out the axe-wounds in his midsection.

Heavy caught a glimpse of his Doktor, and felt horribly certain he was dead. But there was no time for him to mourn, no time to kneel by his stricken partner's side until the German faded. Because now the Slav, who still moved, despite having a body now more torn flesh and buckshot than human, was turning his murderous attention to Heavy.

And now, Heavy was going to finish with his bare hands what mere bullets had not been able to. If he had no time to mourn, he could more than express his emotions with violence and animal fury.


	7. Gathering Pieces

( _Author's note: aspects of this chapter have been toned-down ____in accordance with this site's rules about explicit sexual language_; if you're desperate to see the un-edited version, it can be found at y-gallery, where my username is also Yaddie.

_The drug BLU Spy uses is probably sodium pentothal, or a similar short-acting barbituate. _)

* * *

Had he gone north, Scout would have eventually found himself on the same meandering pathway that eventually brought his teammates to the empty machine shop the night before. Scout wasn't following his map, though. He was following a person who knew the ins and outs of the local terrain, and had a good idea of which routes were booby-trapped. When he arrived at the edge of a dirt road, Scout peered down it in either direction, and saw no sign of his quarry.

"Fuck, how could he have got so far ahead?" As he tried to orient himself by the sun's first rays, Scout realized he might have to give up the chase and look at the map for directions. He stepped out of the undergrowth and immediately slipped in the mud, then tried to catch himself, yelping as his wounded arm gave out underneath him. More obscenities flew from the boy's mouth. He wondered if he should have taken a moment to ask for Medic's help before running off. Trying not to think about the dirt getting into that deep cut, he stopped to bind it with the tape from his right hand, still cursing. As he rose to his feet, something in the mud filled him with a flash of realization.

There were fresh footprints on the road that weren't his they were Andy's. They cut right across the wide, muddy roadway, and lead into the foliage on the other side. Scout was back on the trail in moments, and found himself stumbling down a steep incline, thick with creepers and roots that threatened to snag him every step of the way. There was blood on the foliage, too, dark red smears that belied the other scout's flight through the jungle. At the bottom of the hill, Scout came to a stop in a concrete-lined ditch, ankle-deep in mud and rotten leaves. He realized he was standing in a drainage channel. Handprints and blood on the low wall left a clear indication of which direction Andy had gone and logically, which direction the plantation was in.

Scout pursued.

* * *

When Spy's untimely demise was drawing near, and Scout's chase found him alone in dense jungle, daybreak had finally come to the island. The sun's light was not the only thing on the horizon. Packed into the third UH-1 Iroquois, the rest of the team was finally inbound.

Although he was wedged between Demoman and Pyro, Engineer had lost himself in thought as soon as they took off, and barely noticed his surroundings. Even Soldier shouting over the radio wasn't enough to garner his attention, and the older American himself loomed large in Engineer's mind. He was feeling divided, mentally replaying scenes from the past few days, over and over again.

Engineer shook his head, frowning. (This is nuts, I shouldn't even be worry about this! I'm a practical-minded man, not some silly starlet caught up in a romance movie. And Mundy doesn't care if I spend time around Sarge, anyhow... hell, it doesn't bother me when he goes out drinking with DeGroot, or tags along with the Doc' on some errand. It's not like we've exchanged rings or something, there's no contract forbidding either of us from having other close friends.) He pulled his goggles off and rubbed his eyes, sighing hoarsely. (...so why's it feel like I'm doing him wrong when I'm with Sarge? And why's being with Sarge feel so right? God knows, it's completely normal to be friends with someone, but have no interest in sleeping with them. I'm sure Sarge feels that way about me. And I... well, I can live with that, of course I can. I wouldn't want to ruin our friendship by trying to get closer than we already are.)

There were times that Engineer wished he could do to the rest of himself, what he had done to his right arm. Machines were so perfect, so reliable in the hands of a competent builder. He always knew how his creations would react in any circumstances, under any foreseeable stresses they might experience in the field. Even malfunctions were nothing more than logic puzzles to him deductions could be made, solutions tested through troubleshooting, and designs adapted to compensate for whatever had caused the problem in the first place.

(If I could understand myself could understand people like I do machines, this would be so much easier.) Still moping about his confusion and competing desires, Engineer looked around and discovered that sunrise was upon them. He glanced at his teammates. Pyro was turning an unlit flare between his fingers, while Demoman sucked morosely at a thermos of coffee. In the front of the helicopter, Soldier was doing his best to appropriate the radio console, which had done nothing to earn him the favor of the team's pilot.

"SIT DOWN and SHUT UP!" the pilot barked, shoving Soldier back into the passenger's seat. She was a husky woman of indeterminate age, clad in a red jumpsuit, her features obscured behind sunglasses and a crash helmet. "As long as you're in my aircraft, you'll do as I order you, merc!"

Soldier was adamant that he have access to the communications system, even if it meant leaning into the pilot's personal space. "I AM THE OFFICER IN COMMAND HERE! It is vital to our mission that I am capable of speaking with our men on the ground, at ANY TIME!"

"You want us to land in one piece or not? We've got no fucking forward air control, so make yourself useful and watch for trouble down there! And KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF THE CONSOLE!" The Huey was loud in and of itself, but the people in the front seat were louder, and Engineer wondered if their driver really needed any distractions right now. Soldier seemed to defer to her, though, at least for the moment, and sullenly turned his attention to the scenery below.

The island was looming larger before them as each moment passed, its lowlands clearly visible, its highlands shrouded in a steep pillar of clouds. Meteorology was not one of Engineer's areas of expertise, and he could only speculate how the weather might progress throughout the day ahead. (No rain, I hope.) Dense jungle covered every part of the rugged landscape that he could see; Engineer had read about the history of the region they were in, as well as the banana industry itself, but had been unable to glean much specifically referring to this island.

(About all I could find out is that it was purchased in the name of Zepheniah Mann, and the company ran it as a very successful plantation until the 1920's. I can only guess ownership of it has been shuffled onto his sons, since we're fighting over it now, but... well, there just don't seem to be anything noteworthy about it, besides electrical malfunctions being reported by passing ships and aircraft.) Engineer pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a long, deep breath. It was clear by now that, whether through corporate ignorance or deliberate action, the RED company had neglected to tell their mercenaries a lot of things about the place where they were now expected to fight. He looked towards the front of the aircraft again, where the pilot was shouting instructions to her passengers.

"LISTEN UP! We are landing in five minutes, people! Gather your shit and get ready to bail the moment we touch down! Got that? If you leave anything behind, I'm not flyin' back out here just for your convenience!"

Soldier turned to his teammates and barked, "You understand all that, maggots? GET UP AND GET READY TO MOVE! Our first goal is to locate the second team's Huey, and muster there to make further preparations! Any word from our other men on the ground?" He shifted his attention to the pilot, who was watching the treeline like a hawk.

"Negative! All quiet!"

When the canopy parted, they could see movement in the clearing beyond, human figures obscured by shrubs and pampas grass. Soldier and the pilot both started yelling, and the other passengers couldn't make head nor tail of what either had said. Engineer steadied himself as the aircraft descended, and when it came to rest, Pyro hauled the door open and the men spilled out into the clearing, lugging heavy packs of equipment. He saw Soldier clamber from the front seat, and raised his voice above the chopper's. "What'd y'all see coming in here? Where are they?"

To his surprise, Soldier dropped his crates on the ground and hefted his shotgun out for immediate use. "MEN, WE HAVE A COMBAT SITUATION OVER HERE! LOOK SHARP!" Without another word, Soldier charged off towards the people they had seen. The others traded uneasy glances, then scrambled to catch up with him as the Huey took off again.

The flowering bushes, cycads and razor-edged grasses in the clearing made for a less than clear view of the fight, but Engineer could hear shouting as he came closer. Nearby, Demoman swore and hissed through his teeth. "That's Heavy over there, ah'm sure of it! Steady, lads, there could be all manner o' dangers hidin' in the undergrowth..."

Pyro had grudgingly prepared his own shotgun for use, and seemed to be sticking close to his teammates. Up ahead, Soldier could be heard giving a bloodcurdling battle-scream, then a yell of surprise. "WHAT IN THE SAM HILL IS GOING ON HERE?"

Engineer felt a spark of panic in his heart and lunged forwards, only to find his feet entangled in bindweed. The others failed to notice his fall, and as he got to hands and knees, he saw something that alarmed him more than Soldier's yelling.

There was blood in the grass. A lot of blood. Someone was seated against a tree stump nearby, arms wrapped around his midsection, bleeding copiously. A tangled piece of equipment had fallen to the ground beside him, and Engineer recognized it immediately.

"Doc! Hey, Doc, you still with us? Your Medi-gun..." Engineer crawled over to the wounded man and reached out to support him with both hands. He was still breathing, albeit weakly, but his face was pale as death except where blood had poured from his bruised lips.

Medic lifted his eyes to regard Engineer; there was a bleary expression of relief in them. He said nothing, but gingerly lifted a hand to point at the Medi-gun. In the moment he did, Engineer spotted a sickening wave of motion from the place Medic had been clutching. The older gentleman's guts were slipping from his body in a bloody cascade.

The Texan managed a choked yelp of alarm, then pushed Medic down onto the ground and tried to stop the flow of escaping organs. Medic appeared to have been split from breast to underbelly, and not in a single, clean stroke someone had hacked the poor man open with brutal imprecision. It was difficult for Engineer to discern which parts he was really seeing, but clear that the best bet for his teammates's survival would be to stuff everything back in and fire up the Medi-gun. "Just- just hold 'em in there, Doc', hang on for me."

Although he couldn't muster more than a bubbly groan, Medic seemed well aware of his situation. He lay there and clutched at the wound, his body tensed up in agony, his face ashen and oddly serene, but streaked with tears of pain.

Engineer's heart was leaping in his throat as he pulled the lever on the Medi-gun, and discovered it still worked. He immediately turned its flow on the incapacitated doctor, and after several nerve-wracking moments of waiting, Medic started to show some improvement. A bit of the color returned to his face. More importantly, the bits of tissue and mangled flesh around his middle began weaving together as they assumed their intended formation. When he could finally lift his hands from his belly, Medic did just that, and gave a tremulous sigh.

"Herr Engineer... I don't know how you found me, but... well, zank you. I vould heff languished here a while longer before ze respawn caught me, I think." Medic didn't seem to be feeling quite feisty enough to sit up yet, but he reached over with a bloody, gloved hand, and gently patted Engineer's wrist.

Now that the crisis he found himself in had passed, Engineer could feel his mind easing down a few gears. All of the visceral sensations he'd been ignoring were acutely present once more, and from somewhere in the clearing nearby, he realized he could hear people talking. "Just doin' my job," he said shakily, slurring a little as saliva flooded his mouth. "Here, I- I know it's kinda' awkward, but you think you could hang onto that for a moment? The Medi-gun, I mean..."

Medic clumsily grasped the device as it was thrust into his hands, looking confused. "Ja, I think I am able to do zat much, now. Vhat are you-"

Engineer didn't have the time to explain as he turned away; he only made it a few steps before his legs gave out, forcing him to crouch down in plain sight as he was violently sick. It wasn't exactly the start to this mission that he'd been hoping for. (At least we're not under fire,) he thought ruefully, trying to banish the image of Medic's chopped-up innards from his mind. Visions of meat and tomato sauce haunted him each time he closed his eyes, which did nothing to alleviate his nausea. (Oh God, I don't think I can ever eat spaghetti again. Least not sausage )

While Engineer parted ways with his last meal, he heard his teammates approaching through the undergrowth. Heavy was among them; the big man was yelling for Medic, no doubt worried to know what had become of the team's doctor. Medic took a deep breath, then shouted weakly for the others. "Ve are over here!"

Out the corner of his eye, Engineer saw Heavy burst through the foliage, followed by Soldier, Demoman and Pyro. The Russian looked like he'd just wrestled a bear in a pit full of steak knives; every inch of exposed skin on his body was gouged and bleeding, and the rest of him had been liberally streaked in someone else's blood. Gruesome injuries usually didn't faze Engineer, but manually shoving chunks of viscera back into his teammate had exceeded his tolerance for gore, and he looked away with a faint groan.

"Doktor!" There was a hint of distress in Heavy's voice that belied his concern. "Vhen I see him chopping, I vas sure he killed you... Is safe now, Doktor. Ve finished him!"

"Dammit, someone explain to me just WHAT the HELL is GOING ON HERE!" Soldier demanded. The others muttered uneasily to one another, but it sounded like they would have to wait to hear the story.

Medic was regaining his strength as the moments passed; Engineer could hear him moving, shifting the Medi-gun's power supply over and pulling it onto his back. "I am glad for zat, my friend. You couldn't heff stopped to help me while he vas attacking you, anyhow... ach, it is fortunate Herr Engineer found me vhen he did, or I vould heff bled out."

"ARE YOU DEAF? I asked for a STATUS REPORT, you-Engie?" Mention of the Texan interrupted Soldier's train of thought, and it only took a moment for the rest of the team to locate him. "Good God, private! What's wrong with you?"

Engineer hadn't particularly wanted to be found hunched over a puddle of vomit, but there wasn't much he could do about it. "...must still be kinda' woozy from the trip here," he lied, feeling his ears burn with shame. The elbow-length crust of blood drying on his forearms told a different tale, but as Soldier helped him to his feet, the older American didn't ask for any details.

"Looks like we'll have to wait for those two before we plan our next move, anyway," Soldier sighed, and kept a steadying grasp on Engineer's shoulder while he fished a gray handkerchief out of his pocket. He pressed it into the mechanic's hand, sounding a little flustered as he added, "Here, uh... you can clean yourself off with this, Engie."

Behind them, Engineer heard Medic fussing over Heavy, who was urging the doctor to finish healing himself before worrying about anything else. With Soldier distracted, Demoman had taken up the slack in pressing the wounded men for some explanation. (Heavy must've seen the mess the Doc was in, too...) Struggling not to think about the hands-on surgery he had just performed, Engineer wiped the mess off his face, grateful for Soldier's support. "Thanks, Sarge," he said, smiling weakly. "Let's- let's see if they can at least tell us where the chopper is."

* * *

Once Medic was back on his feet, the newcomers collected the supplies they had brought on the morning flight, and everyone plodded over to the camouflaged Huey so they could discuss the situation further. Soldier was the most forthcoming with questions about what had happened, but neither Heavy nor Medic had a lot of answers for him. The one person who could have clarified things a little was Scout, and he was nowhere to be found.

Engineer busied himself with the construction of a dispenser for the group, and listened to Soldier stubbornly badger their teammates for information that they couldn't provide.

"How many vays can I repeat ze same story?" Medic snapped. "Shortly before you arrived, ze boy indicated ve had two intruders in ze area, and left in pursuit of them before I could ask him vhat he had seen. Ve heard shouting and gunfire, and found him being strangled by another young man. Herr Heavy repelled ze attacker, who fled, and ze only thing Scout said before chasing after him vas that he had shot someone. I-"

Soldier interrupted him. "And that was the big fat guy back there? The RED mercenary WE JUST KILLED?"

Everyone else fidgeted uncomfortably, looking unsure of what to do. The doctor glowered at Soldier. "Yes! I already told you, heff you even been listening? He vas already injured when he attacked me, but..." Medic trailed off for a moment, giving a troubled sigh. "But I am certain he had time to see ze color I am wearing. It is impossible that he vould heff mistaken us for ze enemy."

"Do ye suppose he was just angry at bein' shot?" Demoman asked.

"...reckon he wasn't too pleased about it," Engineer mumbled, grimacing. "That don't explain what he was doin' here in the first place, though. Now look. The only sure sign of BLU activity anyone's even seen here was that fella on the radio who took Sniper and Spy here. He mentioned spottin' a crashed BLU helicopter, not long before they were shot down themselves. Were there any survivors from that wreck? Maybe. But I don't think they'd be dressin' up in red just to screw with us. There's somethin' else going on here, somethin' that wasn't in our briefing."

Soldier was incredulous. "A gap in our intel? That's impossible! BLU agents dressing in our team colors, THAT'S the only reasonable explanation for what just happened! Keep your eyes peeled for more of them, men. Pyro, break out the spy-checking device!"

As Pyro whipped out his flame-thrower in eager anticipation, the others traded dubious glances. Engineer leaned against the new dispenser and cleared his throat, hoping he could push the team forwards sooner than let everyone get bogged down in pointless speculation. "Either way, we're not gonna get any answers by standin' around out here. The enemy's hidin' on this island, and I'm willing to bet their base of operations is someplace with a roof overhead. That'd put 'em in the main complex. They can't be guarding the whole thing, though so as long as we can secure one defensible building, we've got somewhere to start out."

"Ve heff no idea which routes are booby-trapped, Herr Engineer. Three of our men are already missing; ve cannot afford to lose any more to land-mines, or sentries, or... whatever might be out zere." Medic seemed loathe to consider the risk of traps, even though it was a valid point. Nonetheless, Soldier bristled at what he took to be a display of cowardice.

"If you're so scared of catching your frilly pink panties in a bear trap, then you can stay here, Fritz! REAL MEN HAVE NO FEAR OF DEATH AND DISMEMBERMENT! I say we take the shortest path to the plantation, and mount a direct assault! Who's with me?"

Demoman clapped a hand on Soldier's back, and smiled crookedly. "You're the closest we've got tae a Polish land-mine detector, mate. I'll follow ye there, how's that sound?"

Medic tried not to snicker, and failed. Before Soldier could slug one of his teammates or start yelling again, Engineer cut in. "Actually, I've got somethin' that just might work..."

* * *

Tinnitus wasn't a new experience for Sniper, after the time he'd spent working with Soldier and Demoman. Nor was having skinned knees, sore wrists, and a powerful desire to gut BLU Spy like a hare. As he dropped the body of his dead teammate and rose to his feet, he could see the masked man watching him warily, still holding the murderous object that had just claimed the RED spy's life.

"Dat's it, tête carré. We've gotta leave him and get moving." Spy slipped the handgun under his suit jacket and turned for the exit, exhaling cigarette smoke and a sigh.

Sniper wasn't letting go of the French rogue yet. (I can't believe I'm doing this,) he thought, feeling his body move as though it were miles away, or in the grips of severe inebriation. (I never liked you, you self-absorbed twat. Your work ethic was horrible, and it always seemed like you only spoke when you wanted to make someone else look stupid. And that thing you made me do, that was low, even for you. I never really felt like you'd made it up to me. ...but all of that's over now, isn't it? You're bloody-well dead. God help me, you even went out like a real man. I never liked you, but... this one's for you, mate.)

Spy probably took the marksman's plodding gait as a sign of emotional upset over the shooting. Maybe it even was. But when Sniper came up from behind him and took a roundhouse swing at his head, he was caught by surprise. The fist connected with his ear like a rocket, throwing him off-balance; as he staggered from the force of the blow, Sniper shoved him to the ground and sat on him, pinning his elbows under those dirty cowboy boots.

Grabbing the back of Spy's head, Sniper pushed him face-down into the swampy mess of rotten leaves on the floor. "Right, we're gonna be doin' things a bit differently from here on in. You don't need your weapons to sap the enemy's dangerous toys, so I think I'm gonna take 'em off your hands. Done enough bleedin'damage already." Sniper released Spy's head, freeing his hands so he could feel around under the Canadian's jacket.

Spy spat out a mouthful of muddy water, then snarled, "Are you fucking crazy? Look, even if I hated dat guy, I didn't kill him out of spite. He was fucking crippled! Calice de la putain-mère de tabernac!" He writhed under Sniper and tried to kick him, but to little effect. "Our advantage over a single opponent will be not'ing if I don't even have a goddamn sharp stick!"

Sniper was busy emptying Spy's pockets of lighters, cigarette packets, closed balisongs, and anything else that seemed like it might be some kind of secret spy weapon. He rapped his knuckles on the dome of that blue balaclava. "Sounds like a risk we'll hafta take, mate. Gonna turn ya over. Don't think of tryin' anything smart with me."

"I understand you're feeling pissed 'cause I killed your dance partner, but could you at least try to be sensible about dis? We have to cooperate right now, or we're bot' fucking dead!" Spy continued spouting objections as Sniper wrestled him onto his back, but the marksman ignored them. He was still unsure what their next step should be, but he knew didn't want Spy stabbing him in the back. It was a relief when the secret agent's struggle ebbed away to weak fidgeting.

"This handgun's a real beaut'. I'll be keepin' it safe for you, just so there's no hard feelings between us." Sniper had turned away to retrieve his pack when he noticed two surprising things.

The first made his heart twitch painfully, but was surprisingly a relief to him. While Sniper had been busy rolling the BLU Spy, his murdered teammate had vanished from the filthy little alcove they were in. It seemed there was a chance that they could be respawned, after all. He was so amazed that the second surprise caught him completely off guard. Something sharp jabbed into his thigh. Twisting back around, Sniper growled angrily and made a grab for the thing responsible: Spy had managed to stick him with a syringe, which was now emptied of its contents. (You cheating spook...)

The stench of garlic pervaded Sniper's senses, and his whole body sagged forwards, suddenly boneless as a sack of potatoes. Everything around him was slow-moving and hazy. Even reaching for Spy's throat seemed like an insurmountable task. As he lowered his hand, his arm felt as though it were dragging through water.

Spy was deadpan. "...dat should make you easier to work wit'. Get off me, you stupid asshole."

"Right," Sniper mumbled, feeling oddly compliant. He dragged himself up from the other man's chest, and leaned against the wall, still holding Spy's handgun. It occurred to him that something was very wrong, but keeping his mind on one thing was proving difficult. He felt too serenely intoxicated to worry about the situation. "So where're we going now?" he asked, suddenly at ease with the BLU agent's company.

"Now? You're gonna wait here 'til you smarten da fuck up. Give me back your weapons. You're probably too stoned to use dem anyways."

"Sure, you can have 'em..." The Australian reached down for his pack, then decided standing was too hard in his current state, and slouched down onto the dirty floor. He lazily pushed the bag of supplies towards Spy, then let his head loll forward against his collar. "Ahhh... Say, are you sorry for killin' the other spy? I- I just thought I ought to tell you, I never really liked that frog. He's a right bastard."

The only response from Spy was an absentminded grumble, and Sniper looked up again to see what he was doing, vaguely annoyed at the sense of being ignored. It looked like the Québécois had gathered up his belongings, and was preparing an electro-sapper for use. He glanced down at Sniper's rucksack for a moment, then sighed and moved it to the other side of the hall; he really had no desire to burden himself with the marksman's weapons after all.

Sniper wobbled backwards, landing on his ass in the muck. He asked, "Are you gonna fuck off 'n leave me, mate?"

"Dere's a couple of sentries on da main road. I'm gonna go shut dem down. Don't do anyt'ing stupid while I'm away." Spy frowned at his watch or was it his cloaking device? Sniper wasn't certain. "If you come to your senses before I'm back, just lay low and keep an eye out for trouble."

Something possessed Sniper to move, so he crawled over to Spy and grabbed onto the man's leg for support, oblivious to the grimy mess he was leaving on their clothes. The thought of being left alone disturbed him, and he tried to make conversation in the hope that it might compel Spy to stick around. "Did I ever tell you 'bout the time I got captured by the KKO? They thought I was a-a British agent, can you believe that? That bleedin' jungle had so many salties in it..."

Spy sighed and pushed him away. "On second t'ought, what I actually want is for you to lie down and take a nap. Don't talk to anyone. Don't move. Dat would be best for bot' of us."

"Oh... right, I'll do that." Still thinking foggily about the crocodile-infested rainforests of Borneo, Sniper flopped over onto the dead leaves that littered the old BLU base's exit. He watched Spy vanish into thin air, and wondered if the rogue would survive long enough to be back. The possibility he was on his own bubbled up in Sniper's mind, but only concerned him because it meant he'd have nobody to talk with.

"Bah, spies make for lousy company. I wish Engie was here. Rather be with him, anyhow." Thoughts of Engineer made him grin, and he rolled onto his back like a cat basking in the sun, suddenly filled with a very pleasant warmth. He reached a hand down to the crotch of his jeans, almost out of reflex, and started pawing himself through the fabric. Sex was something he could keep his mind focused on.

Sniper had never been a man with big plans for the future, which might have explained why he was working for RED in the first place. Tracking down notorious man-eaters in the bush had been mercenary work in and of itself, so what had sounded at first to be a life with more stability that is to say, a steady employer had turned out more violently unpredictable than killing animals for a living. Settling down wasn't a goal he had in mind, though. To him, it sounded more like something a man did when he was too worn-out and broken down to fight anymore. With his fourth decade on Earth drawing ever closer, Sniper still found himself planning his life no more than a few weeks ahead. He still didn't know what kind of future there could be for him and Engineer. He tried not to think about it.

It was easy to forget about those worries when he was with the Texan or fantasizing vividly about him, as the case may be. In the time Sniper had spent working and living with Engineer, he had found the man to be many-faceted and complex below his straight-shooting exterior. The extremes of Engineer's personality were almost always tempered by patience, though, and even before they had become close, Sniper felt warmer in his company.

He felt warmer now, just thinking about the feeling of Engineer's teeth on his throat. A longing sound escaped him as he dragged his thumbnail against the outline of his hardening length, then bent one knee so it could snake its way up into his pant leg. It wasn't exactly the first time he had ever rubbed one off through his trousers. "Tha's it," Sniper murmured. He felt as though the ground was rocking beneath him like a boat, sending waves of euphoria through his body.

Even when he was in his right mind, Sniper hadn't been able to settle on a word for his relationship with the other man. He'd had 'friends' before, and 'fuck-buddies', but this was something more. The term 'lovers' held connotations of harlequin novel hysterics that bothered Sniper, although in truth, he had little personal experience with sexual liaisons that went on longer than a single night. Most of his social interactions could be described as indifferent or selfish; Engineer was the exception for him, rather than the rule. Something about the soft-spoken polymath made Sniper want to try and open up, to be a nice guy for a change.

The blood seemed to have drained from Sniper's head. Engineer was shy, but not timid, and reminiscing about the things they'd done gave Sniper all the inspiration he could ever need. He applied some more friction to his hard-on and groaned, imagining the the weight of Engineer's embrace, the man's scent, the physical presence that filled his belly with a wonderful sort of heat and made his heart pound. Sniper could almost see the other man through half-open eyes; Engineer was like a mirage in his arms, almost tangible, but maddeningly absent each time he looked too close. In his delirious state, every sensation was overwhelmingly enjoyable, but nothing more than the pulse throbbing in his erection; he felt like it was as big as a skyscraper. He thought so too, for a moment, and chuckled moronically.

His excitement reached its peak, and everything around him seemed to explode. Sniper bucked his hips furiously as he came, seeing lights flash behind his eyelids, feeling each muscle in his body twitch as though electrified. For one mind-shattering moment, everything in Sniper's chaotic, often baffling world collapsed together and crystallized as a single perfect unit, an intricately-carved diamond that held all the answers to all the questions that plagued him. Then he passed out in the mud, and began to snore quietly.

* * *

Scout's journey to the plantation was much shorter than it seemed. Slogging through cold, mucky water and harassed by insects, he felt like he was on the worst nature hike ever. He heard sounds from time to time, rendered eerie and indistinct by the foliage around him, but Andy continued to elude him. (He got his hand blown off. Half his fucking arm! How the hell is that guy still alive? He should have bled out miles back there...) It occurred to Scout that he may have only been on this miserable trek for ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours. (Maybe he made a fucking... whatever it's called. That thing where you tie off a bleeding stump or a snakebite or some shit.)

He spotted holes in the dirt, along the upper edge of the channel's concrete wall, and noticed with some confusion that there were crabs darting into them at his passing. As he squirmed between some thick branches that depended down into the trough from a tree overhead, a word surfaced in Scout's mind. (Mangrove.) He sighed, and tried to turn his attention back to the mission at hand. When the ditch suddenly became engulfed in a large culvert, Scout's sense of unease grew, but he also realized he must be getting close.

(Close to what? Andy? Unless I trip over him in the next minute, I've lost the fucker. Hopefully this comes out at the compound. There's buildings there. Maybe there's some supplies, or first aid kits, or... fuck, even food. I'm starving.) He could see greenery at the end of the tunnel, and daylight. This encouraged him to speed up, and on exiting, Scout found he was at the bottom of another filthy concrete pit. He didn't lose hope, though; a swamped ledge formed the landing for a sturdy-looking door, and beside it was a ladder up.

Scout pushed the door, and cursed when he discovered it wasn't budging. (Did he make it this far? Maybe the people he's working with are on the other side...) Noticing a bloodstained keypad set into the wall, Scout realized that this was the means to unlocking the door. Unfortunately, the entire panel was smudged with blood, so he had no way to determine what the pass-code was. Groaning in defeat, Scout turned to the ladder and set about the arduous task of dragging himself up out of the pit.

Open sky was visible through the trees, and Scout trudged towards that light, pushing through the undergrowth until he found he was in a courtyard, with buildings all around. A jarring crash spooked him, but it wasn't from anything nearby. Still feeling wary, he sidled along a blue-painted wall, then ducked into the first alcove that presented itself.

There was something in there, with him. Something human shaped.

Scout let out a startled scream and stumbled back, falling onto his butt.

The thing moved. First a slight shift of its weight, then a shudder, and then it suddenly sat up and half-turned to face Scout, smiling benignly. "Oh... g'day, mate. What're you doin' in here? I- I been waitin' for him ter come back, I thought you WERE him, but then I heard you yellin' and..."

Scout's new companion gave a muffled giggle and let his head loll back, Adam's apple jutting towards the ceiling. It was Sniper, who looked like he'd been rolling around in the muck; even his glasses were dirty. This was a matter of some consternation to Scout, but it didn't concern him nearly as much as the man's behavior did.

Scout stared. "You fuckin' stoned, man? What the fuck?"

A crooked, fanged grin was plastered to Sniper's long face, as well as a goodly quantity of dirty water. "Might be, he sorta' intec... interjec... he shot me wif something. Musta' been some of the reeeeeal good shit, mate, I- I can barely think about what's happening. Did you get bit by one of th'salties? You're bleedin'..."

"What the fuck is going on? This- this is the wrong fuckin' time to be riding the blue bus, you fuckin' hippy asshole! Snap out of it!" Scout scuttled over to his teammate and grabbed the Australian's muddy shoulder, then backhanded him so hard his aviators flew off. Sniper reeled a little, still smiling serenely, then reached down and grabbed Scout's wounded arm.

"C'mon, mate... lemme- lemme clean that off for yer..." Before Scout could find the right obscenities for the situation, Sniper was yanking off the filthy bandages that had covered the deep gash. The boy squirmed in pain.

"Fuck- motherfucker- fuckin' crazy asshole-"

"Gimme my rucksack, mate, gotta' still 'ave something in the first aid kit..." Once it was in arm's reach, Sniper grabbed his pack and pulled out the first aid kit, then pried it open. There was still some gauze inside, but it was a deep, unsanitary ochre colour that made Scout feel dubious for his safety. Undeterred by the material's discoloration, Sniper set the kit aside, then reached in his pack and took out a near-empty bottle of gin.

Scout forgot his words of objection to being intoxicated during a mission, and cheered up immediately. "Aw sweet, I could really fuckin' use a drink right now. Gimme that, chucklehead."

Instead of complying, Sniper gave a sad sigh. "This is it, mate. I'll miss you." He opened the bottle, then splashed Scout's wound with liquor. It took every iota of Scout's self-control to keep himself from screaming, and as the blinding pain faded into a more garden-variety agony, he glowered at the Australian.

"You coulda fuckin' warned me first, man! Aw, geeze... this is- this really sucks. Fuck. Wasting the last of the booze like tha- get that dirty fuckin' rag away from there! Don't touch it!"

"It's jus' iodine, mate, won't make your arm fall off." Sniper somehow managed to bind the wound despite his clumsy, drugged state, and tied the gauze tight around the boy's wrist. "There y'go, Cock Robin. All fixed up." Still smiling blearily, he leaned towards Scout and captured him in a muddy bear-hug, patting his blonde brush-cut with a filthy hand.

Scout shivered, and wrenched himself free from the older man's grasp, feeling his ears turn scarlet. "Woah, f-fuck!" he sputtered. "Gimme a little space over here, will ya? I ain't fucked in the head l-like you are, man!" As he tried to compose himself, Scout noticed that Sniper was staring off behind him; the marksman looked as though he'd just seen an old friend passing by. "Hey, are you even payin' attention to me?"

"Hi there," Sniper said, dreamily.

Then someone grabbed Scout from behind and clamped a hand over his mouth. He went rigid with alarm and began thrashing, while his teammate watched on in an imbecilic state of calm. Scout's captor began hissing in his ear, and after a few moments he started listening to what the man was saying.

"Just settle da fuck down. If I wanted you dead, I woulda stabbed you in da back. Got it?"

This didn't do much to ease Scout's worries, although he stopped struggling, and tried to turn his head to see who was there. A glimpse of blue fabric was visible out the corner of his eye. He gave a muffled yell and redoubled his efforts to break free, making a mental note to kick Sniper's ass for not helping in the least.

"Maudite, didn't I tell you to be still? If you want to last five minutes out dere, shut up and listen to me. Maybe you haven't noticed yet, but dis situation is more complicated dan what your bosses back at da RED company told you."

Mention of the RED company gave Scout pause, and he finally followed the mystery man's instructions. On being released, he scooted over near Sniper, and turned to face what he already knew to be a BLU spy. Scout was nevertheless feeling pretty irate, but he kept his voice low as he addressed their unlikely partner. "Are you the one who turned Mister 'Lone Wolf' here into a babbling moron?"

Spy huffed, venting cigarette smoke. "You t'ink I wanted to waste a shot of truth serum on him? He was gonna get us bot' killed, it was all I could do to make him cool off for a while. ...it's been about half an hour, he should come around soon. Now, tell me what you know about dis place."

"Look, none of this shit makes any sense to me now. I don't know what the fuck is going on." Scout gave a long, exasperated sigh, then rolled his eyes. "It's a fuckin' banana farm, they want us to keep you guys from controlling it. What's it to you?"

The Québécois was either feeling patient, or just had a good poker face- he was perfectly deadpan. "Not what your intel said, stupid; I already got da impression it was pretty fucking incomplete. Tell me what you've found out since coming here. Den, maybe I can fill you in on what I know."

Grudgingly, Scout recounted his experiences since landing on the island. He didn't like communicating with the enemy unless it was in shouted, four-letter words, but the things he had gone through so far today were making him anxious about their mission. As he spoke, Spy smoked and offered no interruptions, which was alright with Scout. He really liked talking.

"...so either he died and sank into the muck, or he got through that door and escaped. Fuckin' pussy. The keypad for the lock was covered in blood and shit, so I had ta give up on it and move on. Then I found Captain Kangaroo here, and... yeah, you know the rest."

Spy nodded, apparently deep in thought. As he mulled over Scout's story, the BLU agent picked a new cigarette from his case, and lit it off the old one. After a few moments, Scout got sick of waiting for him to speak, and started looking for ways to occupy the silence. He glanced at Sniper, who was looking a little off.

"Hey, so where's our Spy, man? I haven't seen him since I got here. He get himself killed or what?"

Sniper grimaced and rubbed his eyes, then started picking through the compost for something. "Y'could say that. He's dead, gone. Got blown up right here, actually. ...and saved me sorry hide in the process." The dizzy cheerfulness he exhibited when Scout first found him was fading, and Sniper was starting to look and sound more like his usual self.

(Man, he got into a bad fuckin' mood all of a sudden, didn't he? I usually see him like this when he has a hangover.) Scout rose to his feet and leaned against a wall, looking around impatiently for a sign that they would soon be on the move. "Good thing I showed up, huh? Otherwise it'd just be you and this piece of shit. What were you guys plannin' on doing here?"

Spy shot a rude gesture at the boy, but said nothing; he was still busy thinking. Sniper picked his aviators out of the dirt, then half-heartedly wiped them on his shirtfront. "Urgh, 'm tryin' to remember. ...there's a Soldier we've gotta' kill. And an Engineer. This frog says 'is team fought them on the island, two years ago. Now they've got themselves holed-up in the old estate, though it's " The sharpshooter stopped speaking and slouched forwards, scrabbling at the floor for support. He was looking a little green about the gills.

Scout was nonplussed. "Aw man, tell me you're not gonna' barf."

"...I might," Sniper croaked, then managed to pull himself together, breathing deeply as the moment passed. "Anyhow, it sounds like your little friend might've given us a clue as to why they're hell-bent on keepin' people off the island."

"Yeah... some sorta treasure or somethin'." As the conversation turned to the things Scout had overheard, he felt a little excited. (Treasure? Fuck, if we can kill those bums, it'll be ours! Then I'd just have to get out of this contract, and I could go back home and do whatever the fuck I want for the rest of my life!) The sound of Sniper's voice brought him back down to earth.

"Whatever's in there, I reckon our employers want their hands on it...bah, would've been nice of them to let us in on the plot beforehand, don't you think?" The Australian fished a crumpled packet of cigarettes from under his vest, then shook out one that seemed mostly intact and started hunting for some dry matches. At length, Spy took pity on him and offered a light. Then, the Canadian finally spoke.

"I have a good idea of which routes around da compound aren't mined, but... dis door da kid mentioned could be a safer way to infiltrate their base. Provided I can break in, of course. I'd been counting on da two men I saw being da only ones here; wit' more of dem to deal wit', we'll have to adjust our plans. Now..." He paused for a moment and frowned, counting off on his fingertips. "...from what you've said, it sounds like they're a few men short: da Spy, da Heavy- unless your pals weren't able to finish him off..."

"Their Demoman," Sniper interjected, his voice sounding weirdly choked.

"Oh yeah, da dead guy you found. He was probably part of their team, too. Anyhow, dat leaves dem wit' six men. If da Engineer is busy trying to break t'rough some door, and da Soldier is out on patrol, we're most likely to run into da other four guys." Spy shrugged mildly. "Assuming dey aren't all together, it should be simple to ambush dem and dispose of da bodies."

"So what're we waiting for? C'mon, let's go see if you can get that door open, Frenchie." Scout was eager to do anything but stand around, waiting for something to happen. He hauled Sniper to his feet, then started from the entryway where they had been hiding out. The other two men hurried after him, spitting curses and warnings about the danger they were in. "Keep yer pants on, I didn't run into nothin' the first time I headed this way."

"Yeah, and you weigh half what I do, mate. You'd hafta' really work to set off a landmine," Sniper drawled, and tried to claw some of the dirt off of himself. Scout wondered if the Australian's filthy condition was intentional- an act of camouflage- or if he'd just gotten carried away while he was drugged.

Despite the others' concerns, there were no traps in the undergrowth, and they soon found themselves at the locked door. Spy was quick to shoo the two REDs away so he could examine the keypad. After a few moments, he let out a weird little laugh. "And here I t'ought I'd have to break dis t'ing open. Look dere's blood smeared on all da keys, but it really stands out on a few of dem. See da fingerprints? I guess dey don't do a lot of hand-washing around here, everyone who's used dis t'ing must've left a layer of grime behind."

Scout squinted over Spy's shoulder to take a second look, but the older man was already mucking about with the panel, testing different combinations of the dirt-smudged keys. Just as he was starting to wonder if Spy had been bullshitting them, there was a faint 'click': the door unlocking.

Spy cloaked himself with a faint, electrical crackle.

"Woah- woah- don't you dare bail on us, you rotten, stinking-" Sniper drew his knife and got ready for a little of the old chop-chop, but a hoarse sigh reassured them the masked man was still there. He could be seen at this distance, if you looked closely, but anyone more than a few feet away would spot the others long before him.

"Did you forget da part where we're outnumbered, tête carré? I'm not gonna ditch you yet. Dis is just insurance. Now let's get in dere, before someone finds you chumps." The door opened seemingly of its own accord, and Scout could see wet footprints appear on the floor just inside. "If it makes you feel any safer, I'll lead da way."

"Don't like being your bloody decoy," Sniper growled, lowering his weapon. His eyes met Scout's for a moment, and they traded dismal looks, then followed the invisible man.


	8. The Encrypted Man

( A_uthor's note: Aside from Andy, the names used by the renegade group's mercenaries are more or less obvious pseudonyms._ )

* * *

Traveling over the vastness of Earth, a man was reduced to one vertical, unwavering band of light. The crude organic machinery that usually conveyed him, imprisoned by its weight and awkward shape and innumerable crude organic urges, had been stripped away. In a moment he had become boiled down to raw potential energy, then delicately encrypted and propelled heavenwards, a carrier wave for his most essential qualities. Freed from the bonds of flesh and, for the most part, gravity, he could sense nothing in this pure state; as he breached the upper atmosphere and kissed the dome of the sky, he did so with the barest capacity to understand.

At this moment, he was only capable of forming a single thought- barely a thought, even- the simple, eukaryotic awareness of his existence. He thought: "I AM".

Skirting the borders of infinity, he was suddenly and rudely ensnared by the arcane forces of electrical engineering. Without the ability to contest this detour, or even to really know it was happening, the man's course changed. Instead of the great beyond, he was hurled back down towards Earth. If he had eyes, he would have watched a barren red landscape expand before him. Blissfully ignorant of everything that had passed, and everything that was to come, the man simply thought:

"I AM".

Then the man touched down, and in an instant too fast for any human to perceive, he knew more: he knew light. Another infinitesimal period of time passed, then warmth joined a growing list of things the man could acknowledge. He was free no more, once again in the confines of a meat automaton, as had happened so many times before. When the process was complete and he opened his eyes on a white-tiled room, everything he had known up until this point suddenly seemed much more jarring.

RED Spy was alive.

He staggered over to a bench beside the lockers and sat down heavily, feeling overwhelmed by his return to a living, breathing body. Respawn still hit people hard sometimes, but the hangover usually didn't last long enough to keep a guy out of battle. Right now, however, Spy had more than nausea bothering him. He was relieved to be alive, but confounded by what he had experienced in those agonizing moments before his death- one that he was certain would be for good.

Without opening his eyes, Spy took out his cigarette case, then picked out a smoke for himself and lit it. (This should help me recover my wits. Now to plan my next move... yes, planning. Looking ahead. Focus.) He grimaced, fighting dry-heaves and the terrible emotions that were determined to linger in his mind. (The sense of loss, I can deal with. I have felt that before. But such regret... dammit, I don't have time to waste sulking, there is so much I have to do! I need some real answers from that awful harridan, and I need to get back there as quickly as possible!)

Spy sagged against the wall, feeling his resolve waver under the weight of everything that had happened. He couldn't stop himself from thinking of Sniper, the way the Australian had haplessly clutched at him and his usefulness to the unlikely trio. (He must have known deep down that I was beyond saving. Shit, even if my wounds hadn't been fatal, I still would have just impeded their progress. Why did he do that? Maybe he was just feeling guilty for blundering onto a trap, then surviving at the cost of my life. ...or perhaps he was just panicking. It happened so suddenly... and both of us thought it would be the last conversation we would ever have. Bah, I feel foolish now. I have to stop thinking about this and get to work.)

Spy rubbed his eyes and groaned wearily, then started pulling himself together. He would have to come to terms with his human side later. For now, he couldn't afford to feel traumatized. Not when his professional dignity was on the line- not to mention, his team's chances of making headway on the island. Satisfied that he had control over himself once more, Spy left the respawn chamber and headed for mission control.

* * *

The RED base at Teufort was so familiar to Spy, he could have navigated it in pitch darkness. A cohort of mercenaries was always stationed there, but no battle was being fought at the moment, which was fine as far as Spy was concerned. The only person he passed in the halls was an Engineer, too hard at work to notice him. That was also fine. He slipped into the control room, then parked himself at a console and picked up the phone. The number he dialled was one that was known to nobody else on Spy's team, but his unique duties afforded him some special privileges. And right now he had no patience for dealing with middlemen, not even the charming and polite Miss Pauling.

The person on the other end of the line picked up, after a rather long delay. Spy's acting skills were most useful to him when his life was at risk, and for all he knew, this could be one of those times. Sounding much more reasonable than he was feeling, he spoke. "Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Administrator. Or, may I call you Helen? I believe we need to 'ave a talk about ze mission in ze Caribbean..."

Even over the telephone, her tone could make the temperature of a room drop. "You know that I am an extremely busy woman, so I want to make something very clear to you. If you were bothering me to ask about any other thing in the world, I would have you gassed. There's a button right here that would let me do it, too."

"Yes, yes. I know ze telephones and bathroom stalls in all of our bases 'ave zis... personnel-related failsafe mechanism, you could call it. Zat is not what I wish to discuss with you, though."

"Indeed. I suppose you're wondering who we really sent you there to fight, aren't you? I normally loathe to volunteer information to my subordinates, but there is rather a lot at stake here, so I'll save both of us time and cut to the chase."

Spy lit a fresh cigarette off his old one, and smiled grimly. "Yes, tell me about ze other RED mercenaries on ze island. Zey are men who were stationed zere before, oui?"

"I don't know the extent to which you've observed them, but as of a month ago, they ceased being RED employees. These men abandoned their contracts with us and stole a good deal of company property, to boot. I suspected they had plans of squatting on one of the sites co-owned by the Mann brothers, which was confirmed when one of them contacted us last week."

"And you didn't feel it was necessary to share zis information with my team?"

The Administrator scoffed quietly, her voice as crisp over the phone as it was in person. "If a man is trying to kill you, does it really matter what color he's wearing? I have every confidence that you and your teammates know when to fight for your lives. Furthermore, there was nothing of any tactical value that we could have told you. The man who radioed us from the island is looking to cut a deal. We received a few messages from him, none of which included details about the compound's defenses. He was more interested in securing re-admission into the respawn system, and haggling for a finder's reward."

Spy was struck by a realization that would have been more useful a few hours ago. (The Demoman we found... My God, why didn't I figure that out sooner? There's no reason they would extend respawn privileges to mercenaries who have gone rogue. That's the first consequence of betraying our employers. You can't execute someone who will just come back to life.) He frowned, feeling tempted to delve into this mystery, but knowing the Administrator was unlikely to answer any questions she deemed irrelevant.

"So tell me, Mademoiselle, what IS our mission?"

"Don't be foolish, it's the same as before. You are to infiltrate the plantation and kill off any opposing forces you meet, then secure the main compound. Further instructions will be supplied once you achieve this objective."

Frustration tightened around Spy's cranium like a bad headache. He resisted the urge to snap at her, and cleared his throat before speaking again. "Is zere nothing you can tell me zat would 'elp zis job go more... smoothly, than it 'as so far?"

"Given your unique responsibilities, I suppose I can give you another tidbit of information... While the land is what those decrepit old men are hoping to wrest from each other's grasp, something contained within it is of interest to the Mann Company. Call it an old, forgotten investment, if you will. Something that wasn't mentioned in the deed.

"Now... my position forbids me from disclosing details about the BLU's agenda, but... I'm sure you already know they've got the same goal as your own employers. I really could care less which team eliminates those traitors, as long as someone manages to do it. The successful party will be rewarded handsomely by Mister Hale's company if they can recover our lost property from the island. To the victor goes the spoils, hmm?"

Spy's mind buzzed with questions, ones for which he knew he'd never get a straight answer. Not from his benevolent overlord, anyhow. Feeling doubly determined to get to the bottom of all this, he tapped off his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, and restrained himself from giving a weary sigh. "Very well. I suppose zere is a backup plan for ze event of deaths in our team, yes? Our briefing was unclear on ze subject, but... as I am rather far from ze others right now, my use in supporting zem is limited."

"We had originally anticipated you and yours either dying in greater numbers, or not at all. As you're the only one who's been killed so far, you may have to wait in Teufort a while. ...after crawling around in the jungle, I'm sure you'll appreciate the chance to freshen up a little."

He grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a false start, Spy composed himself enough to speak. "Madame, just... 'ow important to you IS zis lost property?"

Spy could hear a hint of agitation in her voice. "While I appreciate your dedication, it is simply not logistically feasible for the RED company to be shipping individual mercenaries around the Caribbean. You'll simply need to exercise some patience; once some of your colleagues have joined you in Teufort, a flight can be arranged."

"A single person can shift ze balance of power and change ze outcome of a battle, Mademoiselle." Privately, Spy was feeling anxious to get back to his team. For all of his apparent delinquency, the man was still concerned with his performance in the field, and the last thing he wanted was to be the strategic hole that brings down the ship. "I can make my own way to our mission control in zat region, if need be. Do we still 'ave any helicopters zere, or were zey all shot down?"

There was a pause as the Administrator checked her last status report. "According to the most recent information I've received, one of your team's helicopters has been brought to the island. ...they weren't clear why, something about a sick pilot... The other aircraft delivered the rest of your teammates there safely, and is returning to mission control." She sighed irritably. "I suppose there's no reason you can't take a domestic flight down there, if you can find your way onto one."

Spy smirked. With his wages, even the cost of securing a last-minute seat on the next flight there would be chump change. "I will be zere before you know it. ...thank you ever so much for your time, Helen. It is always such a pleasure talking with you."

"Spare me your bullshit," she said crisply, and hung up.

* * *

'Silence' and 'sneaking' were things Scout was capable of, but not his preferred way of carrying himself. As he crept after his older companions, he found his mind wandering every which way. He was going out of his skin with distraction. Drops of dried blood on the floor caught his eye, now and then. He thought of Andy. (That son of a bitch should've been bleeding like a stuck pig... did he have a fuckin' medkit or something? Maybe some kind of bleedin'-stoppin' medicine? I don't know if there's anything like that out there...) Scout tried to focus on the environment around them instead, but it was hard. For all intents and purposes, they were in what could have passed for any RED base- just one that had become dirty and dilapidated from neglect. Mud was tracked all over the linoleum floor, and dirty handprints streaked the walls, here and there. Half the overhead lights were dark, the other half cracked or flickering; in the otherwise silent hall, the buzz from those light fixtures was deafening.

Scout glanced at Sniper as they walked. The Australian had a rather lupine expression of alertness on his face, a hunter on the prowl for some dangerous prey. However, the man was pausing now and then to catch his breath, or grimace in discomfort from some unspoken ill. (I wonder if he's hungry. I know I'm fuckin' starving, here. This bites.) On rifling through his messenger bag, Scout found he had another can of soda left, and quietly chugged it to keep himself going. Neither of his companions seemed like they wanted some, anyhow.

After what seemed like an eternity of wandering dingy tiled hallways, the RED base architecture gave way to an older, more Georgian style. Scout was hardly a lad with antiquarian interests, but even he could tell they were moving into the plantation's grand manor. He found himself thinking of the Back Bay neighbourhood, all those fancy brownstones where rich-bitches lived so they wouldn't have to deal with the rabble downtown. (This looks like something older, though... more like the houses in that town north of Salem, where great-aunt Celia lived. What was the name of the place...) Visions of gambrel roofs and sagging wooden porches trickled through Scout's mind, but he couldn't remember the name of that ancient town. He pushed it from his thoughts.

"...this must've been servant's quarters at one time," Sniper murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "How much of this place is still inhabitable, d'you reckon? We didn't run across anyone down in the base, so they've gotta' be somewhere around here..."

"I don't know, we never fought in da mansion. Maybe you two should hide somewhere while I take a look around..."

Scout grimaced, feeling a jolt of suspicion. Sniper must have felt the same way, because he growled, "Not on your bloody life. We're movin' together. ...oi, I think I can hear people talking, down that way..."

The three men made their way down the corridor, each practically holding his breath as they navigated the rotten floorboards; all of them could hear the sound of conversation now, and they were understandably anxious about blowing their cover. Turning a corner, they found themselves on a mezzanine overlooking a large room: the manor's kitchen. It was a run-down affair with stone floors, walls, and an oven that looked like a small cave. Its recent occupants seemed to have turned it into a sort of dormitory, replacing most of the ruined old furniture with sleeping bags and supply crates, while the oven was now in use as a fireplace. There were people seated before it on a bench that seemed ready to crumble into splinters. Their backs were to the mezzanine. Scout and his companions ducked below the handrail, then crept slowly along, using the thick balusters for cover.

"...you must be mad, mate. Ivan didn't come back with the brat. He's a dead man for sure."

"Nein! I vill hear none of zis talk! Zat man is ze backbone of our workforce here, and he could still be alive out zere. Ve should launch a rescue mission immediately, or ve could face an irrecoverable loss of..."

"Come off it. We've already got everything we need for a siege right here. Besides, Tex says 'e'll be through that door any day now. One less bloke to share th'spoils with, far as I'm concerned. Speakin' of which, how's the kid holdin' out?"

The conversing men were a Sniper and a Medic, both members of the team that had gone rogue. Sitting between them was a short person in a grubby jumpsuit, a welding hood strapped onto his head.

"You make a valid point... ah, I vas able to restore him to health. Ze arm vas a loss, though. Haha, I am certain ve can still find a use for him around here. Particularly if ve lose anyone else."

"Bah, the Colonel's gone back to 'is old decree. Nobody leaves the mansion but 'im. He says there'll probably be another load of BLUs comin' this way soon, and between them and the REDs who got Ivan, they should take care of each other for us. ...waitin' here ain't exciting, but it's not so bad as dyin' out in't bleedin' jungle, ennit? Maybe we'll get ta pick off a few stragglers..."

"Vhat about my research? Vhen I agreed to be a part of zis operation, I made it clear zere were certain things I vould require out here. I understand zat simply letting our enemies kill one another is ze easy vay to go about it, but I need-"

"Oh, come on, now. You'll get ta do all the vivisectin' your little heart can handle, Ruprecht. 'ere, I even went through the trouble of fixin' up some tranq darts for when the occasion presents itself. How's that for gratitude?"

"Very well... You must understand, mein freisch tz, every moment I spend away from my surgery, my skills weaken. Ach, when ze Colonel returns, I vill make it clear to him zat if he vants my services here, he must do vhat he can to see zat I remain in... top form."

While they were talking, the smaller man rocked on his seat and rubbed his hands together, making no interruption to the conversation. Up on the mezzanine, Sniper edged over until he bumped into Spy, then whispered, "We oughta' take 'em out now, while their backs are turned. Pick 'em off like rabbits."

The invisible man sounded hesitant. "Dat would blow our cover. Not to say it's da worst way we could let dem know we're here, but... you really t'ink you can kill all t'ree of dem before someone finds cover and yells for help? I'd just as soon wait until we can catch some of dese guys alone, or somewhere dey won't have a chance to shoot back."

"Bloody coward," Sniper hissed. For his part, Scout suddenly found himself wishing they had bombs at hand. A surprise attack from Sniper's Model 82 would only be guaranteed to eliminate one person, but a well-aimed grenade could wipe out all three of the men. Without a doctor of their own at hand, starting a firefight here and now would be a dangerous gamble.

(I keep telling those schmucks to give me a sidearm that hits harder. Fuck, if only we had some support here... Even a dispenser would be nice.) His stomach growled, a noise that was almost deafening from where he was hiding, but after a terrified moment where Scout was certain he'd betrayed their position, he realized that the people across the room hadn't heard a thing.

"We should move on," Spy said, barely audible even to his companions. Sniper grudgingly agreed, and with no strong direction of his own, Scout just followed along.

When they slipped into a store-room a few minutes later, Scout was overjoyed at the sight of something he never thought would excite him: a cache of RED company rations. It was hard for him to speak softly. "Holy shit, you guys, we-we've gotta' fuckin' eat some of this stuff. C'mon, c'mon, let's see what they've got."

Even Sniper looked a little happier at their discovery, and moved in for a closer examination of the enemy's food stores. "We oughta' snag a few cans, then find somewhere out of the way where we can eat. If these blokes are stuck inside all day, I reckon the only rooms they're liable to visit are this one and the loo. Anywhere else we can get to quietly will probably do. Maybe the one of the servant's rooms we passed by."

"I don't like da t'ought of sneaking past dat kitchen a second time, especially not wit' a bunch of cans in our arms. Let's just find somewhere far away from dis part of da mansion." Spy's cloaking device powered down as he gathered up some rations, which prompted him to curse quietly. He was clearly more comfortable when he couldn't be seen, but taking on extra baggage must have exceeded the device's capacity for concealment.

Scout might have laughed at the BLU agent, but he was too busy reading the tops of the cans, determined to get the best things he could find. "Ugh, all of these are ham and motherfuckers. Did those assholes just pick through 'em and take the good stuff? Maybe there's something better hiding underneath..."

He started to stack the unwanted cans off to one side, and Spy cuffed him across the back of the head. "We don't have all goddamn day for dis, just grab somet'ing so we can get da fuck out of here."

"Fuck you, man. I know you guys eat snails and shit, but I need real f-aw yeah, I found some cookies over here!" Scout was feeling ready to throw down with the masked man, but the discovery of some sweets defused his temper. He crammed a number of the cans into his bag, then hastily replaced the others to where they had been before.

"Hostie de tabernac de yankee," Spy grunted, pocketing a bunch of accessory packets. Cut off from civilization, he was no doubt hoping to replenish his supply of cigarettes. Still fidgety about being plainly visible in hostile territory, he turned for the door. "We're leaving. Right now. Before someone finds us..."

Sniper grumbled, but didn't argue against the logic of vacating an area where the enemy was likely to show up, sooner or later. He stuffed a few of the foil packs into his rucksack, then followed Spy, with Scout taking up the back of the group. Both of the REDs were fairly confident that, with his own ass on the line, Spy would be very careful about plotting their course.

* * *

After much deliberation, the other six members of the RED team that remained on the island had settled on a course of action. They were to move as a group, despite Medic's protests that it defeated the purpose of the staging area that had been established. In the end, though, he conceded that the Huey and the clearing was more-or-less indefensible; with no secure means of moving the chopper, they would just have to abandon it for the time being. Beleaguered by a mid-morning downpour that turned the air into a steamy soup, they gathered everything they could feasibly carry along, and set out.

The path on which Scout had disappeared into the jungle was not marked on anyone's map, but it had brought the two hostile mercenaries to the clearing, and thus it was reasoned, it would bring the RED team to the main compound. Everyone was wary, particularly when they emerged from the jungle and found themselves on the same road Scout discovered some time earlier. A quick check of the map confirmed they were on the right track.

"If I were tryin' to kill off invaders, this'd be a good place to set some booby-traps," Demoman said, surveying the landscape with the eye of a seasoned expert. "Not the whole stretch, mind- unless I had an endless supply o' land mines. But anyone makin' their way t'the estate would prefer a nice, open road tae that stinkin' jungle, ya ken?"

"Guess it's time to see how good this idea really is, then." Although he was the most vulnerable member of the group, with his hands full of tools instead of guns, Engineer had taken the lead. In place of his usual goggles, he was wearing a bulky assortment of electronic gewgaws, all of which were affixed to some sort of visor. Something he had put together the night before, he told the group, for the purpose of letting a man see in the dark.

Demoman wasn't sure what all those parts were supposed to do, or how seeing-in-the-dark goggles were supposed to help with locating traps in broad daylight, but everyone else seemed to be giving Engineer the benefit of the doubt. (I know the wee fellow's never let us down before, but he could get all of us blown up if he's wrong about this... Oh well, that's always the worst that could happen, isn't it? Maybe if we wind up in respawn, they'll let us carpet-bomb this place on the next pass.)

The others huddled together impatiently, wiping the rain from their faces and waiting to see if anything would happen. Even Soldier was being quiet for a change, something Demoman couldn't complain about. (Seems like he's got no time for any sort of delicate operation, unless it's something Engineer is doing...) Demoman might have mused over this, but he was the only one present with a lot of trap-related experience, and figured he should be on the lookout for anything suspicious. Just in case those goggles did nothing.

Engineer made a pensive sound. "Say, uh, DeGroot- y'see that big rock over there, by the roadside? I think there's somethin' in the lee of it. Can you toss a grenade by it, just to be sure?"

Demoman probably would have done just about anything to alleviate his boredom at this point, but blowing things up was his favourite pastime. "Aye," he said, and casually fired off a shot with his grenade launcher.

There was an explosion, naturally, but a larger one than he had expected. As gritty mud rained down on the RED mercenaries, Demoman gave a low whistle. After an uncertain moment, the others realized the meaning of this, and a sense of optimism seemed to grow amongst them. Soldier clapped his hands down on Engineer and Demoman's shoulders.

"Looks like you were both right, men! How quickly do you think we can proceed to the enemy's stronghold like this?"

"I don't wanna get too ballsy while we're dealing with buried ordinance, but... well, between the rain and the fact that these guys were probably in a hurry to booby-trap the whole plantation, I'm reasonably certain that mines along this road won't be covered too well. Which is good for us, because-" Engineer paused to tap the side of his cumbersome headgear. "-I'll be able to spot 'em using thermal imaging. Given how Demoman here can dispose of 'em real quick, I'd say a relaxed pace would be best for us. Like a walk around the garden, but with more explosions."

Medic tried to clean the specks of mud from his glasses with exquisite care. "As ve approach ze building complex, it vill become increasingly likely ze noise we are making could attract ze enemy's notice. ...killing zem all is our goal, of course, but I suggest everyone who isn't sweeping for mines should be scrutinizing their surroundings for signs of enemy activity. Snipers. Sentries. Zat sort of thing."

"Sounds like a great job fer you, four-eyes!" Demoman laughed, reaching over to snap one of the doctor's shoulder-straps. Medic slapped his hand away, looking nonplussed. "Don't be such a girl, ah was just teasin'..."

A weird little smile tugged at Medic's face. "Herr Demoman, mein kleiner Demoman, you vould burst into tears if I were to ridicule you for your number of-"

Soldier broke up the discussion, sparing Demoman any eye-related grief. "WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR, THEN? This isn't first grade, men, THIS IS WAR! Engineer, Demoman, you two keep doing what you're doing. Everyone else, we are deep in hostile territory and we can't afford to lose a single member of the team to inattentiveness. KEEP! YOUR! EYES! PEELED! Now, MOVE OUT!"

* * *

Many years ago, the mansion's parlour-room was a picture of opulence and refinement. Decades of neglect had reduced it to its current state of dilapidation, and as the trio of mercenaries hunkered down in a corner to eat their meal of stolen food, Sniper found himself peering out one of the grimy windows. The curtains were long gone from most of them, but a thick layer of cobwebs and dirt obscured the view. He frowned, and turned his eyes to the tin of biscuits he'd selected from his rucksack.

Although they were probably far from any hostiles, Scout was still speaking quietly, for which Sniper was grateful. "Ugh, cold rations. This blows, I wish we had a fire..."

"I know I'm stating the obvious, but we need a plan," Sniper muttered, gingerly nibbling at his food. "These blokes are under orders to stay inside all day, and as I were saying before, they seem to 'ave set up camp in the kitchen. Now, you don't wanna engage them straight up, which I can- I admit, I can see where you're coming from." He paused, gesturing at the BLU agent, who was smoking in silence. "We can wait for 'em to split up, but... well, who knows how long that'll be?"

Scout noisily scarfed down some tinned peaches, then said, "Why not stick around in the room with all the food? We can ambush whoever they send out to get dinner, from there."

"Dat's not far from da kitchen, though. We'd have to be quiet about it- and clean. If someone comes looking for him afterwards and sees blood, I'm pretty sure dey'll start yelling for backup." Spy seemed adamantly set against any plan that might involve actual fighting.

Sniper frowned. "I know you're scared to death of getting your suit dirty, but we probably won't be able to just neatly backstab each of these blokes and call it a day. For all I know, they could move in pairs. We've got to divide them if we're gonna' take 'em down one by one, find some way to draw them apart. Any ideas?"

"I dunno... hey, did any of you see smoke detectors in the part that looked like our base? Maybe if we set a fire... ...for that matter, you think they have security cameras runnin' down there?"

Scout seemed belatedly worried by the thought that they could have been spotted, but Spy shrugged it off. "If dey did, we would have been attacked by now. Dis place has been abandoned for two years, remember? It's a miracle dere's electricity at all. Da generator is probably running on emergency settings."

"Crap. Well, that's all I could think of." The boy set to work on some stolen cookies, a disappointed expression on his face.

"Oi- how about that engineer? We saw three of 'em, but unless their engineer is keepin' your pal Andy company, he's probably alone right now. Working on that door they mentioned." A secondary goal began to surface in Sniper's mind, as he remembered the rogue team's talk of the engineer. (He's trying to break open some secret room in the mansion. I don't know if there's treasure in there, or something else entirely, but it's probably the reason we're here. I'm curious to know what this miserable job has really been all about...)

"Right, da short little fucker!" He could almost see Spy's eyes light up at the realization that they had a lone target to pursue. "I don't know da layout of dis building, but if we're quiet, we can probably track him down. Any machinery he's got running would be hard to miss in dis empty house, we'll hear it a long way off."

Scout couldn't talk through a mouthful of food, but he nodded in agreement. Satisfied that this was a useful goal, not to mention one he could get the others to cooperate with him on, Sniper finished eating and rose to his feet. He took one last look through the window, and squinted, getting a blurry view of the estate. "Looks like there's a conservatory looking out on the garden," he murmured absentmindedly.

"Huh, dat's where I saw da engineer and da soldier, yesterday. Dey were having a smoke, never knew I was watching dem."

Sniper glanced at the others, feeling realization dawn on him. "Think we ought to start searching towards that end of the house?"

* * *

Sniper was no electrical engineer, but he knew they were on the right track when he spotted thick cables protruding from a hole in the baseboard and trailing off down the hall. The others spotted this alteration as well; he heard a quiet murmur from Spy, who had reverted to his preferred state of near-invisibility.

"Da house must be too old for dem to hook up a modern generator to it... or maybe dey were afraid putting a current t'rough da old wiring would start fires. Dey must have simply punched a hole in from da base and started sapping its power supply."

"Seems like it," Sniper whispered. He had taken his glasses off to see better in the gloom. Without any active light source but the windows in adjacent rooms, the three men found themselves slipping in and out of darkness, as they tried to navigate the crumbling manor. The cables were like a trail of breadcrumbs, though; amidst the halls and chambers rendered indistinguishable by decades of thick dust, the wiring marked a clear route. A route to what, he couldn't be completely certain, but all evidence indicated they would find this engineer at the end.

Glancing back for a moment, he caught a glimpse of Scout. The American looked like a kid in a haunted house, wide-eyed and fidgety. Sniper couldn't blame him. Even with his renewed confidence in the respawn system, he was also wary of what might lie around the next corner; while their employers had the technology to bring a man back from the dead, it was still in everyone's best interests that the mercenaries retained their survival instincts. Suicidal fearlessness was rarely a useful attitude in combat.

"Oh man, this is real fuckin' spooky," came a faint murmur in the dark.

(Definitely like a kid in a haunted house,) Sniper thought. He smiled a little, secretly enjoying the atmosphere- at least in the part of his being that enjoyed awful pulp-horror stories. There was too much at stake for him to let his mind wander, and Sniper kept his keen eyes on their surroundings. Traps could be anywhere, after all.

The hum of machines could be heard, at first distant, but growing louder as they followed the cables. Their breadcrumb trail ended abruptly at a set of double doors, which had been left ajar to admit the new wiring. A blinding shaft of daylight peeked out, and Sniper could see the faint shape of Spy before it, hesitant to open the doors further when someone could be in the next room.

"What are you bloody waiting for?" Sniper growled impatiently. "You're a ghost, mate, he'll think it's a draft if he notices at all."

The Canadian didn't sound eager to move forward. "Alright, alright, I was just checking for booby-traps. Hostie, what are you in a hurry for? Subterfuge is a patient man's game."

One of the doors began to open, albeit slowly. Just as the gap grew wide enough for someone to get through, the hinges gave a loud creak, and Sniper thought he saw the invisible man jump in surprise. His heart definitely reacted to the noise; he felt as though it was trying to leap out of his mouth. After a few terrifying moments, Spy sighed audibly and crept ahead, keeping the door propped open for the others.

"It's clear... dere's nobody in here right now," Spy said, sounding a little shaky. Distrust nagged at Sniper's mind, but the only noise coming from the room was clearly mechanical, so he slipped through and did his best to stay flattened against the wall. Scout followed close behind, and the BLU agent carefully eased the door shut, making less noise than before.

Taking a look around, Sniper realized they were in the conservatory he'd seen from the parlour window. Crumbling wicker furniture had been heaped in one corner, no doubt by the home's current inhabitants, and what was once a sun-room had now become an impromptu workshop. They had arrived at the renegade engineer's territory. There were French doors leading out to the garden, but morning glory had long since overgrown much of the conservatory's outer structure, obscuring the view outside. Powerful sodium lamps kept the room brightly lit, and a mainframe computer stood apart from the dirtier machining tools that occupied much of the floorspace. Even with a large air conditioner labouring alongside the computer, the room's heat was stifling.

Sniper wasn't worried about the tropical atmosphere. He had bigger concerns- locating the engineer, for a start. In a low voice, he said, "Either he's hiding behind that giant calculator, or he isn't here right now. What's that alcove along the wall, there? It looks like another entrance..."

The men began a tentative exploration of the room, circling around an assortment of jury-rigged lathes, drill presses, and half-finished sentries. Sniper hadn't seen any of the man's work up until this point, but he quickly realized that this engineer was much more haphazard about his construction technique than any others the sharpshooter had worked with. (Maybe his materials out here are limited... they probably took his tools off this island when they left two years ago, and I reckon him and his mates came back here on their own power. He's probably had to piece a lot of things together on his own. What's the computer for, though..?) Somewhere amidst the machines, Sniper heard Scout gasp in surprise, and he looked around quickly to see if the boy was in trouble.

"Holyyyyy shit," Scout whispered, pointing at something. " "R.C." That, that's gotta' be it. The door they were talkin' about."

Sniper wormed his way out through the maze of machining tools, and saw what Scout had been gawking at. It was the alcove he had noticed earlier; now that he could look into it, Sniper realized it really was another entrance... of a sort. Inside was a short flight of stairs, leading down to a wide, sealed-off passage. A massive metal door blocked the way. It was the colour of tarnished gold, with the letters "R.C." boldly engraved at eye-level, while the rest of its face was textured with tiny squares. Overcome by curiosity, Sniper crept down the stairs to examine it. The other two joined him, and for a few long moments, everyone was at a loss for words. Spy's cloaking device crackled quietly as it revealed him, but with such an compelling sight to occupy his attention, he barely noticed.

At length, Scout spoke. "Looks like they tried ta blast their way in... man, what the hell's that made of? They couldn't even put a scratch on it." Every other surface in the niche was stained with soot; explosives had destroyed the layers of plaster and scarred the stone underneath, but the door itself was completely unscathed.

Although tempted to touch the door, Sniper decided that they were being reckless enough as it is. He leaned close to it for a better look, though, and something in the air made his hair stand on end. "See how it's patterned like checkerboard? ...my God, I think those are little keys. There's a- a letter on each one..."

Scout reached over and pushed one of the buttons, depressing it slightly into the door's surface. Nothing happened. "Think it's some kinda' puzzle? ...geeze, you guys hear that weird noise? It's like static or somethin', I started hearing it when we came down here."

"T'ought it was my imagination," Spy grunted. "Sounds like it's coming from inside my head... what da fuck is going on here?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about, mate. Only thing I'm hearin' is the machines in the room up there." Sniper had always been able to trust his ears, especially when there were dangerous things lurking about, so he was troubled by the possibility he had suffered hearing loss. (That land mine was pretty close. But my ears stopped ringing a while ago...)

Scout put his hands over his ears for a moment, then took them away, frowning. "You gotta' be going deaf or something, man. Seriously, this is fuckin' freaking me out! Unless someone put a radio inside my skull when I wasn't watchin', there is no reason I should be hearing stuff from in there."

Sniper suddenly found himself thinking of Weird Tales- specifically, a story he once read that was now strangely pertinent. "Scout, d'you have any fillings? ...how about you, Spook?"

The other two men gave him incredulous looks. After a long moment, Spy nodded slowly. Scout rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Well yeah, but what the hell's that got to do with anything?"

"I read somewhere that people with metal in their heads- y'know, fillings, steel plates, things like that- they sometimes pick up radio waves with 'em. Maybe that's why you're hearing strange noises." Sniper was feeling kind of entertained by this possibility, but his explanation didn't seem to inspire much faith from his companions. He sighed, and decided to elaborate on it. "I got this weird feeling like a static charge in the air when I came down here. You feel it too, don't you? ...look, whatever's behind that door, I'm willing to bet it's not lost pirate gold."

Spy began to make sense of his words, and Sniper could almost see the Québécois' eyes light up. "Somet'ing technological is locked up in dere. Who would go t'rough dat kind of trouble to stash machinery, though? If it's da t'ing dat's making my eardrums buzz from out here, it must still be running after all dese years..."

"You think it's like, mad scientist kinda' shit in there? Maybe a bunch of those metal balls that shoot lightning all over the place? If the only thing in there is a fuckin' science fair, I'm gonna' be pretty pissed off." Scout sighed and folded his arms across his chest, looking up at the multitude of buttons that covered the door.

The Australian scratched his chin, and realized he was in desperate need of a shave. "Nobody would waste their time hiding worthless curios. Whatever it is, these blokes want it."

"But Andy was tellin' the other guy he thought it was-" Scout started, then paused for a moment to consider the situation. "...huh, I guess he IS kinda' stupid. If they came all the way out here for it, it has to be really valuable... I bet their engineer knows what it is, even if the rest of them don't."

The masked man had lapsed into silence, apparently examining the symbols on the door. Sniper devoted a minute or two to looking them over as well, but he couldn't see any obvious pattern. His earlier assessment was a bit off, he realized- in addition to letters, there were other symbols as well. (Wait, I'm just seeing more than one alphabet here. Some of those funny ones are just Greek. And that backwards "R" is Cyrillic... hm, too bad I can only read English. I suppose one or more of the alphabets on there could be red herrings.) Sniper sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it. "I don't know a thing about cryptography, so this is out of my league. Offhand, I'd suggest the computer up there is probably working on it."

"Makes sense. Huh, it's smaller den da ones we were using during da war... leaps and bounds, eh? I'd need a lot of free time to start deciphering dis on my own, anyhow. Let's stop gawking and find somewhere safer to lie in wait, dat engineer could come back here any time." Spy gave a long, smoky sigh, then turned and walked back up the stairs.

He paused at the top of the stairs, grunting in pain and going stock-still. "Fuck. We- we're found out." Spy reeled about and staggered down to join his teammates, then collapsed against the door, panting weakly. A projectile was lodged in his left shoulder, still dangling from the wound its needle-tip had made.

(Tranquilizer dart. Someone with good eyes was waiting for him,) Sniper thought. A split second later he was on the ground beside Spy, rifling through the man's pockets for his pistol. Sniper's own guns were still in his rucksack, but the SMG was damaged, and the rifle no good at close quarters. Following his lead, Scout had dropped down below the edge of the staircase as well.

Glancing at the boy, Sniper hissed, "Gimme your double-barrelled shotgun, mate. No good for you with that injury. 'ere, take the frog's Browning, it'll hit harder than your little target pistol." Scout looked like he wanted to start loudly freaking out, but managed to keep quiet and exchanged weapons with Sniper. Beside them, Spy groaned faintly and tugged at the Australian's sleeve, but he was too sedated to resist the theft of his gun- or to take part in the coming fight.

"We gonna' wait for them to come here, or charge out, guns blazing?" Scout asked, his voice reduced to a shaky whisper.

Despite everything that had happened since he crash-landed on the island, Sniper was now steely and determined. This was familiar territory, a life-and-death waiting game where the first man to make a bad move would pay for it with his life. He levelled the Force-a-Nature and spoke quietly to his younger teammate. "Whoever's up there nailed 'im as soon as he came up the stairs. Unless they start lobbing bombs, I'd just as soon lie in wait. You see anyone enter your line of sight- kill him."

"This'd be easier if WE had grenades or somethin'..." The boy gave a despairing moan, and tried to get used to the feeling of his new sidearm. Maybe it was lack of sleep or just the sudden turn of events, but Scout was starting to wig out, and Sniper knew he couldn't let that happen. Now more than ever, they needed the kid's usual moxie.

"...oi, got any cans of food left? Just grab one and throw it at 'em. You pitch right-handed anyhow, don't you? Could spook 'em long enough to give us an opening." Sniper's mouth twisted into a fang-toothed smile as he whispered to Scout, and this seemed to restore the American's confidence somewhat.

"Alright... okay, yeah. We can do this." Scout pulled a tin of spaghetti out of his messenger bag and held it for a second, gauging its weight and the power he'd need to lob it convincingly.

"Listen good. If it sounds like they're scattering, we'll have a moment to look around up there, maybe pick a few of 'em off."

"Gotchya." Momentarily setting his gun down, Scout crouched in preparation for charging. Then he took a deep breath and threw the can up out of the stairwell, yelling, "EAT THIS, ASSHOLE!"

That definitely got their attention. Someone had been lurking just out of sight, near the mouth of the stairway; he gave a muffled whoop of panic and ran, knocking over some machinery in the process. One of his cohorts exclaimed, "Oh shit!" This was indication enough to Scout that the ruse had worked, and he grabbed Spy's pistol, then scrambled up the stairs to meet the enemy face-on.

Sniper had visualized this tactic as a means of buying time; he had no idea how many of the rogue mercenaries were up there, let alone what kind of resistance they could put up, and wanted to get a look at them while they were scattering. Actually leaving the cover of their little hidey-hole wasn't quite his intention. Feeling a jolt of worry for the safety of the young American, he lunged after Scout. It was too late now for turning back- with one teammate and not so much as a full first aid kit at his disposal, Sniper charged into battle.

As soon as Scout left the alcove, Sniper could hear gunfire. A second later he reached the conservatory as well, and saw the boy was busily perforating the renegade who'd gotten entangled amongst the machines. The target in question might have been a RED pyro at one time, but now he was just a man in a dirty boiler suit, desperately trying to extricate his shotgun from underneath himself as Scout added bullet-holes to his back. Scout's natural sadism was something to which Sniper had long-since become desensitized, but he thought it was foolish to waste ammunition like that.

"Pow! Execution-style, motherfucker!"

"He's not alone, ya little mongrel! Look sharp, I saw-" Sniper grabbed Scout and shoved him to the floor, sparing him from another tranq dart as a result. Finding cover behind a drill press, Sniper peered through a gap between two pulleys, trying to locate the mercenary who had put BLU Spy out of the fight.

Underneath him, Scout squirmed and spat obscenities. "Get offa' me, dingo! We've gotta' kill those fuckers before they regroup!"

If the situation was much different, Sniper might have found the closeness and friction between their bodies to be arousing. Right now, though, sex was the last thing on his mind. "Keep your bleedin' head down, you nearly lost it just now. Their sniper's somewhere around here!" he hissed.

"Fuck, alright. Just- how the hell am I supposed ta shoot anyone from down here? Lemme go, I'll be careful."

Sniper crawled off of the other RED, who rose to a crouch and huddled up next to him, seeking targets. The man who'd been shot was still flopping weakly on the floor somewhere, groaning through his welding hood. The enemy sniper, on the other hand, was making himself much scarcer. Sniper considered the direction those darts had been fired from, and realized the other marksman was probably hiding amidst the pile of ruined wicker furniture. (Bet some fire would scare him out. Too bad that bloke on the floor doesn't seem to have a flamethrower with him.) While he had the luxury of being under cover, Sniper reached into Scout's messenger bag and grabbed a box of shells, then emptied them into his pockets. The boy was about to yell at Sniper, but clammed up when he saw what he was doing.

From the other end of the room, they could hear the rogue sniper taunting them. "Don't be like that, ya cowardly little buggers... Just put your 'ands up and come out, nice an' peaceful. Ol' Kelly promises 'e won't hurt a hair on your blighted scalps. 'ow's that for diplomacy?"

"The hell you won't! I don't know why you shit-heads are tryin' to kill us, but I'm gonna' find you and I'm gonna' knock your fuckin' teeth down your throat!" Scout was never one to pass up a verbal altercation, and he responded in typical Scout fashion- with obscenities.

"Sure you are, short hoggers! I tell yer what, we've got a lad 'bout your age who's feelin' a bit low, says one of your mates shot his hand off this morning. But I'll bet I know how to cheer 'im right up! All you gotta' do is poke your head up so's I can stick you wif a knock-out dart. Then he can 'ave a go at you with his favorite baseball bat, that'll make 'im forget all that nastiness he's been through today..."

Sniper didn't know if this "Kelly" bloke was lonely for conversation, or just susceptible to the same urges which made Scout such a loudmouth, but the man seemed to be letting his focus stray off-course. (I should use this to my advantage. I wonder how well he's seeing through that blind...) While he was still entertaining the idea of trying to drive the enemy out with fire, Sniper didn't really want to burn the whole manor down- not while him and Scout were still in it, at any rate. With all the jury-rigged machinery around, dust and grease were spread about the room in equal parts, and igniting either of those things could have explosive consequences. (I'll have to ambush him. Is there a good route I could take through this midden?)

As Scout traded insults with the enemy marksman, Sniper flattened himself down onto the dirty floor and wriggled along, managing to keep hidden behind some debris until he made his way under a long folding table. Trying not to consider how much weight the flimsy aluminum legs might be supporting, just inches over his head, he squirmed his way down the length of the table and paused there to consider his next move. The heap of ruined wicker was only a few feet away now, and Sniper could see Kelly's midriff through tiny gaps in the reedy material.

The obscenities being shouted by the other men made it difficult to concentrate, but masked any sounds Sniper made in his precarious advance. If he wasn't concerned about upsetting the table legs and being crushed, he would have shot his enemy right there. He wasn't sure what kind of a kick the Force-a-Nature had, though, and that made him wary about using it in his current position. (If I can draw his attention away from here, I'll be able to sneak out and blast him before he knows what's coming. Think, Mundy, think! Maybe if I flick a bit of hardware onto that metal bin over there...)

While Sniper was mulling over this, a distraction suddenly presented itself- but not one he would have preferred. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Kelly straightening up a little, then going still. He didn't realize the meaning of this until the man's rifle coughed quietly, and Scout gave a panicky yelp. "Motherfucker, you shot me! What the fuck was..."

The American's voice trailed off into an indistinct groan; he must have taken a look out in the hopes of locating their target, and was rewarded with a tranquilizer dart. Kelly started laughing like a madman. Through the wicker blind, Sniper could see him doubled-over, no doubt slapping his knee in mirth.

Sniper bit down on the curses that were trying to escape his mouth, and decided it was now or never. He clambered out from under cover and crouched, bracing the stock in the crook of his elbow, then took aim at Kelly, and unloaded the shotgun into him. The other Australian went down with an agonized howl; Sniper couldn't see how seriously he'd wounded his counterpart, but he was determined to finish the job.

(It's been a long time since I killed someone who won't come back to life,) Sniper thought ruefully. He wondered if working for the RED company had made him deranged, and smirked faintly as he stomped an opening through the brittle reeds that separated him from Kelly. (Nah. This is self-defense.) The renegade was alive, but his left leg would never be the same; even with ragged material and flesh still covering from it, Sniper could see that his shot had shattered Kelly's kneecap.

The rogue sniper looked up, pale-faced, gritting his teeth in pain. He was still clutching his rifle, and took a desperate shot at Sniper from point-blank range, but somehow managed to miss. "Don't come any closer, you bastard! urrgh, I knew this job would be th'death of me. I reckon you're 'bout to finish me off, aren't ya? J- just do me a favour and hear me out first, mate."

Sniper delivered a sharp kick to the other man's weapon and sent it flying. "I'd just as soon pass on that," he grunted, reloading the scattergun. Kelly glanced around frantically, and started trying to crawl away amidst the wicker debris, but he probably knew he was in a hopeless situation.

"You wanna' know what's going on here? Ha hahaha, I could save you a lot of trouble, y'know? Don't you want someone to let you in on the game?" Kelly stuttered, then groaned; he must have been in spectacular agony.

A scraping noise caught Sniper's attention, and he turned about just in time to see the rogue team's Pyro aiming a shotgun at him. He decided to save the sneering one-liners for another day and just blasted the shorter man, throwing him back against a ruined turret. Sniper thought the act might awaken some strong emotional response within him, but he realized that, respawn or no, any man should know the consequences of pulling a gun on someone. (I just put the little wanker out of his misery, really. Surprised he could even move, after Scout emptied all those bullets into him.)

Kneeling before the fallen mercenary, Sniper wrenched the welder's mask off his face, then held a hand over his mouth for a few moments, but no breath came forth from his lips. Satisfied that he was truly dead, Sniper turned back to Kelly and chambered another two rounds. "Sorry for the delay, mate. Nothin' ta worry about, you're next."

Kelly had produced a machete from somewhere on his person, and was using it to tap out an unsteady rhythm on the floor. "Is there a reason you're takin' your sweet time with this? Not to suggest I'm in a hurry to die, mind you, but- Christ, this really fuckin' hurts. Agh... 's like some kind of sick torture, lettin' me wait like this. D'you enjoy watching one of your own bloody countrymen suffer?" As he spoke, Kelly's gaze roamed about the room, pausing here and there. He kept rapping on the tiles with his knife, his hand moving so quickly it almost seemed like a nervous tic.

"Not really. It's sort of nice hearin' someone who doesn't have a foreign accent, though. Between that and the heat, this could almost be home." Sniper smiled humorlessly, snapping the Force-a-Nature shut and cocking it. He lifted his gaze to Kelly, and felt a momentary twinge of pity for the wounded man. "I'd give you one last fag before I do you in, but... let's be honest, mate, you'll slit my throat if I come any closer."

"D-don't hafta' hand it to me," Kelly stammered, his expression brightening a little in spite of the pain. "Just toss one 'ere. Got me own lighter."

Sniper gave a grim chuckle, then fished a cigarette out of his breast pocket and flicked it over to Kelly. "Right, then. But be quick about it, I don't fancy hangin' around here any longer than I have to." The knowledge that his companions were drugged was a dark cloud over his plans for the immediate future, but he had already decided that abandoning them wasn't an option. If he'd have to wait for them to come around anyways, Sniper figured he could spare a moment to let his victim smoke.

"Guess I misjudged you," Kelly said, clamping the cigarette between his lips, then lighting it with one hand while keeping up the floor-tapping with the other. He drew in a deep breath, then gave something between a moan and a sigh, letting his body sag back against the dilapidated patio furniture. "Seems you're a fine bloke after all."

"It's the least I'd hope for if I were in your shoes." Sniper shrugged, relaxing his posture a little. He didn't lower his weapon, though- while there was really no way Kelly could attack him at this point, he didn't want to turn his back on the other man. As he waited, Sniper could feel his irritation with the incessant rapping sound start to rise. (Is that bastard having a seizure or something? Maybe I ought to shoot him now, just to-)

Sniper's world suddenly erupted in blinding agony, and he managed to get out a hoarse scream before blackness engulfed him. Understanding of what had happened would come to him later; he was already unconscious when he went face-down on the floor, still twitching uncontrollably from the attack that had brought him down. Standing behind him was the man that he and the others had come to here kill: the rogue team's engineer.

Living in the tropics, not to mention on his own schedule, had transformed him in a similar fashion to the other RED deserters. He had been working almost non-stop since their arrival, popping bennies and God knows what else to keep himself going, only breaking for the occasional shower or cigarette. As a result of this, the man had a week's worth of beard on his face, and his clothes were encrusted with shop dirt.

"That was a close call," he said quietly, switching off his homemade stun-gun. "Thanks for keepin' him distracted, buddy. I was kinda' shy about stickin' my neck out after he shot our pyro." A steel-toed work boot rolled Sniper onto his back. By some miracle, the Force-a-Nature didn't go off in his hands, but it took the mechanic a few tries to wrench it away from him.

"You're fucking right that was close, Tex Jesus Christ, he was just about ready ta kill me there! Are you sure you couldn't have moved any faster?" Kelly snapped. He was suffering too much to do anything more than curse at his teammate, and even that was taxing. "Urrgh, just get Ruprecht in 'ere. And kick that bastard a couple times for me, will yer? My knee oh Christ, this's almost as bad as bleedin' kidney stones."

Tex stared down at the wounded man for a long time. With his eyes hidden behind dark lenses, it was impossible to discern what sort of feelings might be going through his mind; amidst the haze of crippling agony, Kelly suddenly felt afraid of him, afraid of the way he was fingering the stock of that loaded shotgun.

"What's- hey, what're you waitin' for? Is something the matter wif you?" The Australian chuckled nervously, then groaned, dizzy from blood loss.

After an uncomfortable pause, Tex finished appraising his injured teammate, and lowered the weapon he was holding. "...just gatherin' my thoughts. Alright, I'll call for the medic. Lemme take care of these infiltrators first, just so's they don't get up and cause any trouble. Won't take more than a minute or two."

The engineer set his gun on a table and considered Sniper for a moment, then stomped down on the RED mercenary's face, breaking his aviators. Satisfied, Tex took out a roll of duct tape and set to work on the unconscious men with expert speed, binding their hands behind their backs where they lay. Kelly slouched in the corner and whimpered, hoping that help would come soon- preferably before Tex got any funny ideas.


	9. Losing Pieces

( _Author's note: in-game, Soldier's rocket launcher fires what appear to be_ HEAT (_high explosive anti-tank_) _rockets. In the real world, these would do preposterous amounts of damage to a human being, possibly even tearing a hole right through the body and detonating wherever they happened to land. In Team Fortress 2, a non-crit rocket at point blank range does a little over 100 damage (enough to almost kill a flyweight character at full health), which suggests that whatever he's using isn't actually made to penetrate steel plate armour. I try to keep things involving existing weapons or technology to be semi-realistic; that is to say, somewhere in the space between the Team Fortress 2 universe and Real Life, but in this case I'm gonna' say "fuck it, it's a fanfic" and go with the rocket launcher's TF2 abilities._

_I realize most people probably don't even notice or care about this kind of tedious concern with details. I shouldn't either, I blame my father_ (_who is a stickler for realism. Never watch a military movie with him)._)

* * *

The noonday sun beat down on the RED team with brutal strength, burning away the rain, and leaving them sweaty and parched. Nobody wanted a drink right now more than Demoman. While his natural inclination was to be drunk for as many of his waking hours as possible, his supply of liquor was limited, being out in the wilderness and all. Since he knew his stash would be restricted by how much he could reasonably carry, Demoman had taken the extra precaution of packing something much more volatile than his usual scrumpy. (I've got to hand it to the locals here, they've certainly perfected the art of distilling. The flavour doesn't really compare with whisky, but the strength? I'm absolutely certain you could power rockets with this fire-water. Never thought I'd find a liquor that I wouldn't drink straight up...) As the group made their way along the main road, he pulled a bottle of extremely potent rum out of his rucksack, then carefully poured some into his canteen. It was a mind-boggling 80% alcohol, and while it didn't improve the taste of piss-warm bottled water, the kick was something Demoman appreciated.

Demoman took a drink from the canteen, then looked off towards the estate. He was catching glimpses of it now through the trees, along with the complex of buildings where the team was told they would be fighting. With the way things were going so far, Demoman wasn't sure anymore who they were up against, or what sort of fight he should be expecting. This sentiment was common to most of his teammates as well; although Engineer was pretty quiet as he scanned for traps, the others were tensely discussing the situation. Normally, Demoman would be eager to take part in such a conversation, but he was feeling withdrawn for some reason.

He found himself studying a promontory that stood about a hundred yards off the right side of the road. It was an extension of the mountains that covered the centre of the island, a steep cliff tattooed by green streaks of vine and climbing cactus. Trees skirted the ledge high above, and for a moment, Demoman was sure he caught a glimpse of something moving between them. He grimaced, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, then looked again. Nothing. "Bah, ah must be lettin' this place get t'me," he muttered.

"Whoa, hold up!" Engineer stopped in his tracks, and the rest of the mercenaries piled up behind him in a human traffic jam. The Texan seemed to have developed a sort of tunnel vision with that gizmo of his; all of his attention was on the road ahead, and he didn't even notice the others struggling not to trip over him. "There's somethin' anomalous in the trees over yonder, I don't- I'm not sure what I'm seein'... it's gotta' be man-made, though. Hard to make out its exact shape, but it's about as tall as a telephone pole. Probably metal. Hmm..."

As Engineer fiddled with the settings of his visor, Medic suddenly flinched as though stung by a bee. "Zat could be another sentry, like ze one we saw yesterday- ze one zat shot down Spy and Sniper's helicopter. It vas hidden in ze trees, but I studied it best as I could... Very tall and thin, vith metal casing over its entire length."

"Vas probably built as aircraft deterrent. No guns, only rockets," Heavy added.

Soldier opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, frowning under his helmet. Demoman found himself grinning; the American probably wanted to second-guess his teammates, but didn't really have a more plausible theory about what the object might be.

Engineer, on the other hand, had questions. "How close do we gotta' get before it notices us? Any suggestions for takin' it out safely?"

"I'm not sure, it might... ah, ze problem is..." Medic suddenly lapsed into uncertainty, which didn't do much for Demoman's faith in him.

"Ve don't know." Heavy was inarticulate, but he managed to relay what they had discovered the day before. "Yesterday, ve land in rough weather. Strong wind, leaves blowing all around. Afterwards, vhen the wind vas calm, sentry become active. Medic say he think it turns off in bad weather, so it von't shoot waving trees. Only people or helicopters move in calm weather."

"Makes sense, if it uses motion sensors. It'd wanna have a long range, though... either it ain't too interested in what's on the ground, or there's enough cover between here and there that it just hasn't seen us yet." Engineer sighed, tugging off his helmet for a moment and mopping the sweat from his stubbly dome with a shirtsleeve. "Even if it's somethin' else entirely, we're probably better off destroyin' it just to be safe. How are we gonna get closer to that thing without bein' killed?"

Pyro perked up, cradling his beloved flamethrower. "Rff hrr shrrd hh frrurr, whh crrn urrh dhh smrrgh hhf crrhfrr."

Engineer sighed, giving the rubber-suited maniac a doting pat on the shoulder. "That's not a bad idea, but smoke might not be enough to confuse it. Not all engineers give their turrets visual sensors to track incoming targets, they can also use acoustic systems, or even eclectic things like molecule sniffers and seismic sensors."

"If I lob enough bombs in its direction, I'm bound tae blow it up sooner or later," Demoman said. Clearing away landmines had been a decent way to spend the morning, but it was starting to feel repetitive. He was eager to start exploding bigger things.

"Demoman's got the right idea! Just point me in the right direction, Engie. There isn't a damn thing on God's green earth that can survive MY WRATH!" Soldier had already shouldered his rocket launcher, and was practically dancing with joy at the opportunity to finally use it.

"I dunno if that's the best idea, boys. You start blowin' up big pieces of the landscape around here, and they'll know exactly where we are. There's gotta' be a safer way..." Engineer was still trying to be prudent. Medic expressed his agreement with a nod, but the others were losing patience with the team's careful pace. Soldier seemed particularly frustrated, and he turned to face Engineer with a reproachful expression.

His voice was unusually quiet, a monotonous growl in place of the energetic barking that Demoman was used to. "Is there a reason you keep shooting me down, private?"

Everyone went quiet as the Americans faced off. Demoman did his best to keep watch on their surroundings, but he listened curiously. Hearing Soldier argue with an "indoor voice" was strange, and Demoman found himself absentmindedly pondering what it might mean.

Engineer sure looked taken-aback. "What? ...c'mon, Sarge, I don't mean ta single you out, or anything like that. I'm just- shoot, I just want us to win this thing, y'know? I dunno if we can take that kinda' risk..." His brow creased above the visor he was wearing, and he anxiously bit his lip.

"War is all about taking risks, private. You're worried they'll find us out here? The sooner they show up, the sooner we stop sneaking around like a bunch of cat-burglars, and turn this fiasco into something we can win- a real fight."

Soldier spat in the mud; he was practically radiating the disappointment that must have been curdling inside him since yesterday. The fact that he was expressing it without screaming at Engineer, well... it was a little confounding to Demoman. (I wonder what's gotten into him? Maybe that rumour about Engineer slipping him valium was true, after all.)

An awkward silence descended on the team as Engineer digested the other man's words. Then the Texan spoke again, wrestling that bulky headset off as he did. "I get what you're sayin'. Don't- dammit, I hope it don't seem like there's no place for you in the plans I make. I've just got a different way of lookin' at some things, I guess... But here. If you're gonna' start shootin' rockets at that thing, put this on first. You'll be able to see it better."

Engineer offered the visor to Soldier. The older American lifted his helmet off, looking dumbfounded, then took the device and finally started returning to his regular self. A smile creased the corners of his mouth. "Well thanks, Engie! I'll put it to good use."

* * *

As Soldier prepared to demolish the sentry tower (and everything near it), the rest of the mercenaries retreated to the shade of the roadside. Demoman was feeling kind of sore about being passed by for RED's other source of high explosives, but he kept it to himself, and drank some more to ease his frustration. (This is because I've got no depth perception, isn't it? Bloody unfair...)

The destruction was too loud for anyone to carry on a conversation, so the others busied themselves with some canned rations, and ate while they waited. Demoman wasn't hungry, and the closest thing to entertainment was watching poor Pyro wrestle haplessly with a folding can-opener; after taking pity on the firebug and opening the tin for him, Demoman had nothing to do. He found his gaze wandering back to the cliff he'd noticed earlier, but there was no sign of the figure amongst the trees.

A strange sense of premonition gnawed at the Scotsman, inspiring him to keep his eye on the sky. Even when the explosions ceased, and the two Americans returned to the team in triumph, he still felt terribly uneasy. Looking back down the road they had already travelled, Demoman thought he saw a spot on the horizon, suspended above the trees. After a moment of determined squinting, he realized that something was definitely coming their way. Demoman could only think of one thing it could possibly be.

"Heads up, lads, I think that's a helicopter inbound!" He pointed towards the shape, which was growing larger as it approached. Whether the aircraft was on route to the estate, or coming to investigate Soldier's handiwork, was open to speculation.

The other RED team members didn't take long reacting to Demoman's warning. Soldier - who had only agreed to stop for lunch after considerable urging from Engineer and Medic - sprang to his feet and quickly gulped down a can of soup. Then he picked up his rocket launcher and reloaded it hastily, shouting, "I'll blast them out of the sky!"

Medic sounded a little uncertain, as though he were trying to work out a few mental equations before passing judgement on the aircraft. "It couldn't be any of our men, yes? Even if one of zem had died in ze past few hours, it is impossible he could heff returned to ze Caribbean so quickly. ...can anyone see vhat colour zat helicopter is? Or its make, for zat matter..."

"Oh! Hand me those goggles, Sarge." Engineer scrambled to an upright position as well, pocketing the remainder of the biscuits he'd been eating. After getting his elaborate headset back, he put the thing on and started mucking around with it. The vehicle was still too distant to be clear to the naked eye, but Engineer gave it one look through the visor, and bristled. "Looks like a cargo helicopter, somethin' bigger than our Hueys. Fuselage pods and the cowling up top are painted blue... I'd be pretty suspicious of anything flyin' over this remote island as it is, but that kinda seals the deal- it's gotta be a BLU transport. They probably can't see us down here, but there's no way they'd miss that smoking wreckage up the road."

"Is too bad you destroy big sentry," Heavy said idly, glancing at Soldier.

The lantern-jawed American turned to Heavy and opened his mouth for a retort, but was cut off by Engineer. "That just means we'll hafta shoot it down ourselves, don't it? I'll unpack that dispenser again, you boys get your biggest guns ready and wait 'til it's overhead. Any sooner, and they'll have time to split before you can do any serious damage."

Heavy had pried open several cans of rations for lunch; he finished the last one, then grinned and rose to his feet, no-doubt eager to ruin someone's day with Sasha. Soldier might have still been annoyed by his huge teammate's ribbing, but the prospect of getting to kill people helped to mend his busted balls. Although there was nothing in Medic's arsenal that could do much to a helicopter, he shouldered the Medi-gun's power pack and joined the others, followed by Pyro; his mask hid his expression as always, but he seemed optimistic about the damage his flare gun might do.

For his part, Demoman was just hoping the chopper would fly low enough for him to hit it at all. He grumbled, "Of all the rotten luck... maybe they'll try parachutin' down, an' I can pick 'em out of the air."

As the enemy helicopter came near, Tavish DeGroot couldn't help but smile a little. The promise of a fight always brought the team together. After hours of slogging down a muddy road at a snail's pace, everyone seemed overjoyed to have a fight coming up. (It won't be a long battle if the first few rockets take them down, but at least we'll have a victory under our belts. Nothing raises my spirit like watching those BLU girlies get blown to pieces.)

When the chopper was close enough for its roar to drown out casual conversation, Soldier dug his heels into the muck and lifted the business end of his rocket launcher. Demoman could see him squinting out from under his helmet at the aircraft, trying to plot its speed of approach so he'd know where to aim. He was always using fancy things like "motion parallax" and "depth perception" that came with having two eyes.

Soldier barked, "Let's take this bastard down, boys! OPEN FIRE!" His rocket launcher sent a lovely billet-doux towards the enemy, and belched a smoke cloud onto the rest of the team. The projectile hit home, but it only took a second before Demoman could see that it had just destroyed the left side's landing gear. Cursing, Soldier started to line up another shot.

The BLU team wasn't going to take this lying down, though. Just as Heavy started spinning up his minigun and trying to angle it skywards, the chopper's door slid open, and a mounted machine-gun poked its nose out to greet the mercenaries. The trees only protected Demoman and his teammates as far as obscuring their position from people above. The rising smoke from Soldier's rocket launcher was like a big, red bullseye. Lead death rained down on the REDs.

Engineer yelped in pain as he and his half-finished building were strafed. The rest of the team scrambled for cover as the enemy shot blindly down through the trees. Heavy couldn't move himself fast enough and took some hits as a result. The big man roared and hefted Sasha's barrel upwards, then returned fire. While the helicopter weaved overhead, Medic pulled himself out of the mud and hurried back to his teammates, turning his Medi-gun on the wounded Texan first. Everyone knew a couple bullet wounds would just make Heavy more dangerous.

Demoman was unscathed. He clambered through the foliage until he was clear of the targeted area, then glared up at the helicopter. It had moved past the RED team, but he could see that it was circling back around. From somewhere behind him, he heard Soldier launch another rocket, but this one missed the turning vehicle and went whistling off into the distance.

"Looks like they're comin' for another pass at us!" Demoman shouted, readying his grenade launcher. Although he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hit it, he was sure as hell going to try. The chopper had definitely dropped closer to the treetops since it was damaged. (The bastards probably want to take a better shot this time.)

To his surprise, the BLU's aircraft took a steep dive and leveled out just before it touched down, skidding to a stop in the mud roughly fifty yards from the REDs. He was thrilled with this turn of events. Holding his position amongst the trees and watching the enemy team begin their charge, one face in the crowd stood out to Demoman. A word formed silently on his lips. It was one that filled him with rage some days, or left him wound-up in lonely regret on others. He didn't say it out loud, but as the thought lingered, he growled, "Trai-tor-i-ous son of a hoor... It'd be you they send out here, woul'n't it? Ah'll give what's comin' to ye, mark my words."

Demoman heard footsteps in the undergrowth. Heavy and Medic had come up alongside him, and the huge Russian's mini-TAT was already spinning and ready to unleash hell. Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that Pyro was keeping close to Engineer as the shorter man scrambled to salvage the destroyed machine and make something useful from its remains. Soldier had lingered at Engineer's side, but he was beginning to move up just now, eyeballing the incoming BLU horde.

The older American's lips curled back in a dangerous grin. "Alright, boys. Here's the game plan: if they haven't spotted us by the time they're at... oh, about mid-range... let 'em have it. If they find us out before then, me and the Scot will split off in either direction, and it'll be business as usual."

"Makes enough sense tae me, mate. ...steady, they're definitely lookin' fer us." True to Demoman's warning, the BLU team had slowed their advance a little, their eyes darting back and forth as they searched the trees and bushes alongside the road. It seemed like they might actually blunder right on past without even noticing the muddy RED mercenaries, but as the BLU Scout scurried into the danger zone, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and pointed at the roadside.

"Whoa, holy shit, we got-" The young man's eyes were wide with shock, but he only started considering evasive maneuvers too late- his warning to the rest of the BLUs was cut off by Soldier, who scattered his body to the four winds with a rocket strike.

It was on.

With no reason to be subtle anymore, Heavy bellowed, "You are all DEAD!" Sasha spoke too, but her voice was a rumbling purr, and her words were more than threats. The BLUs scattered towards either side of the road, except for their soldier- Jane- who launched himself into a spectacular battle-charge.

Trailing smoke in an arc behind him, Jane flew through the air and came crashing down on RED Pyro, who gave a muffled squeak. He gripped his launcher with one hand, then pulled out his trench shovel with the other and took a swing at RED Engineer; the Texan ducked behind the sentry he was trying to cobble back together, cursing. Before the BLU soldier could tangle further with his diminutive foe, RED Pyro weakly reached up from his place on the ground, then shot a flare up the back of Jane's coat. He burst into flames, screaming incoherently about the fact that he was now on fire.

Demoman's first instinct was to have a visit with his "old friend"- the kind of visit involving explosives and maybe some angry words but the BLU Heavy-Medic group was making themselves a dangerous inconvenience to everyone on the RED team. Putting aside his plans to duke it out with Jane, Tavish lobbed a couple of grenades towards the blue-clad Heavy, then dove behind some bushes as his foe's minigun traced a line across his chest.

"Ugh, good thing he were nae any closer t'me. This's gonna leave a hell of a bruise," he groaned, clutching at his ribs. The first swath of bullets hadn't penetrated his armour, but Demoman knew it wouldn't hold out against that kind of punishment forever. As it was, he felt like he'd been run over by a motorbike. The grenades went off, and he peered through the foliage to see how much damage he'd done.

BLU Heavy was roaring angrily as he hosed-down the RED side with hot lead. Behind him, a little guy in blue overalls was hastily erecting a dispenser, but their medic was nowhere to be seen. Then Tavish spotted a sleeve attached to a blue glove at one end, and nothing else on the other; it was clear that the BLUs were now fighting without a doctor.

Tavish glanced over his shoulder to see how Pyro and Engineer were holding out. It was just then that the bush he was using for cover exploded. As splinters and bits of metal tore through his left ear and cheek, the RED Demoman howled and looked back to the fore, lifting his launcher. His BLU counterpart was there, grinning fiendishly and closing in on him.

"What sorta Highland Demoman would be found cowerin' in the hedge like a bleedin' pheasant? You're a damned disgrace to our kind, ye RED pillock!" BLU Demoman then started to reload his own launcher, and cackled gleefully.

"What sorta Highland Demoman starts prattlin' away at the enemy while 'is weapon's run dry?" The injured Scotsman was half-kneeling in the mud, but he still had a couple rounds left in his launcher. After BLU Demoman realized his grave error, Tavish lobbed him a trio of frag grenades. The first one missed, but in scrambling to avoid it, he twisted his ankle in the mud and was struck by the other two bombs.

Splashes of blood and flying limbs always brightened Demoman's day, particularly when he was the one responsible for them. He pulled himself to his feet and glanced over in time to see Jane decapitating RED Pyro with his shovel. Anger flared up in Demoman's throat, and the world seemed to slow to a molasses speed as he took in the battlefield around him one last time. There was no question that he was going after the BLU team's soldier next, but on some level, he knew he should check and see how many of his allies still lived.

Heavy was pin-cushioned with arrows, doubtlessly the work of the BLU Sniper. He was still alive and shooting, though, while providing a meat wall to shelter Medic. The focus of his rage was the enemy heavy weapons operator, a man equally massive and well-armed. Behind BLU Heavy was a dispenser, and BLU Engineer, who was working frantically to keep his machine up and running. The RED team's Engineer had given up on building in this hectic environment; Demoman spied him and Soldier on the other side of the road, crouched against the rusted hulk of an old Jeep. Engie's hard-hat was gone. His face and head were bloody, but Demoman couldn't tell where his injury was, let alone how bad it might be. An arrow drifted past their hiding place - BLU Sniper making himself known, no doubt. Beside the lofty marksman, a man with an anxious posture and a gas-mask was brandishing his flamethrower. One of Solly's rockets came screaming towards BLU Pyro, who emitted a muffled yelp and deflected it into the trees with an air-burst.

That left Demoman to pair off with the enemy of his choice. "God help me," Tavish murmured, slinging the launcher across his back. Then he brandished his faithful Pain Train and charged at Jane.

The BLU team's Soldier was taking a break to lift Pyro's severed head up out of the mud. If the Scotsman's battle-scream didn't get Jane's attention, his beatstick certainly did; he ducked low and took a powerful swing at the back of the American's knee. BLU Soldier whooped in surprise and staggered, turning just in time to take another blow to the wrist. Enraged, he hurled the severed head at Tavish, then hobbled backwards through the mud to put some distance between them. The man's shovel was now doubling as a cane.

"JUMPING A MAN FROM BEHIND? You will fight me like a REAL SOLDIER, TAVISH!" Jane's toothy grimace flashed below the rim of his helmet, spewing insults and flecks of saliva in equal measure. Still leaning on his shovel, he seemed to realize that his RPG couldn't be used one-handed, and rooted clumsily through his pack until he found a shotgun. While he worked to prop it against his hip, Demoman started towards him, leaving the detached noggin behind. Seconds later, it vanished along with the rest of Pyro.

"All's fair in love and war, mate. Ye should be grateful ah didn't just blow ye to bits! That would've ended things real quick." Demoman grinned, brandishing his club and considering where to use it next. Even though their friendship had become a feud, then simmered down to a rivalry that went up and beyond the requirements of their employers, the two men afforded each other certain privileges when facing off in the battlefield- namely, the chance to fight back. Tavish didn't know how Jane saw it, but to him, it was the closest he could get to an apology.

The American growled irritably, taking a shot at Demoman. It missed. As burly as BLU Soldier was, he just wasn't big enough to use a shotgun with one hand. He cursed and flipped it around, then suddenly lurched forwards and swung the shotgun's butt at his enemy, swatting the Pain Train out of his grasp. Tavish had a moment to stare in surprise, before Jane clobbered him over the head and his view of the world turned to stars. Dazed, he scrambled away and fumbled through the bushes for his weapon. As the enemy limped after him in pursuit, he could hear foliage rustling, and further off, the chaos of a battle in full swing.

"How d'you like that, you Scotch son of a bitch? I'll teach you to get the drop on me!" Jane whaled on him with the shotgun until he found his weapon, and raised it to block the incoming attacks; although his armour dulled the impact of the blows, it was no less vexing. As he looked up again, it was apparent that the Soldier had recovered a little from being hobbled. He seemed to be trying to decide if his shovel was really a better melee weapon than the gun.

"Yer doin' a fine job of educatin' me so far. Now here, Ah've got a lesson fer you: shovels belong in the garden or the graveyard, not the battlefield!" Demoman took an idle swing at the shovel, and Soldier fell for it, turning his attention to defensive manoeuvres with the entrenching tool. Then the Scotsman lunged for his real target: the other man's shotgun.

Its barrel was a bit too thick to grab securely, and when BLU Soldier saw Demoman's hand near the trigger, he released the gun like it was on fire, and hustled around to his enemy's blind side. "Don't you dare shoot! This was supposed to be hand-to-hand combat!"

"Ah never said that, you oaf, I was jes' givin' you a fair chance te fight back," Demoman drawled, turning to get the American back in view. He was already tired of this game, tired of facing off with Jane, tired of playing 'ring around the rosie' with him. The shotgun would bring an end to things, as soon as the soldier stopped running circles around him. Brimming with impatience, he turned the other way and was suddenly face-to-face with Jane.

BLU Soldier bristled, and smashed that troublesome shovel against the left side of his face. "I don't need your 'fair chances', Goddammit! My superior fighting skills are enough to-"

A bloodcurdling scream caught Tavish's notice, and he glanced over out of reflex. It wouldn't have been unusual if not for the fact that he didn't recognize the sound of it. The other man's attention was diverted as well, which was probably for the best - otherwise, he probably would have exploited the distraction to beat Demoman senseless. They both stared as a third soldier came flying out of the jungle, and landed in the midst of the other combatants.

This man was armed with a rectangular, black beast of a rocket launcher- something clearly not standard issue. He wore a RED soldier's uniform, bearing a small gold insignia on the left breast: an eagle, clutching a branch in its talons. The coat was showing signs of how much time its owner had spent in the jungle. It was not red anymore, so much as deeply stained, and scored with innumerable tears from traversing the rough terrain. His helmet was similarly dirty, and covered with netting into which bits of foliage had been incorporated. It was camouflage, just like his dark green face-paint. "YOU RAGGEDY-ASSED LITTLE PUKES ARE TAKING TOO LONG TO DIE!" the newcomer barked, then started a bloody chain reaction across the battlefield.

Perhaps it was because they had been engaged in a standoff, rather than actively brawling, that Tavish and Jane were the only ones to stop and watch him. That was about to change. The instant he was on the ground, the renegade soldier took aim at Medic, who among the REDs was responsible for maintaining a stalemate between the two groups. Medic didn't see his demise coming. Nor did his Heavy, but the big Russian - who had run out of ammunition for Sasha, and was reduced to pelting his distant opponent with a shotgun - definitely felt the nearby explosion, and the difference it made after his healer was gone. Enraged and under fire from BLU Heavy, he turned to face Medic's attacker, but was mowed down before he could try to avenge his close friend.

This turn of events came as a surprise to the BLU Heavy and Engineer, who took a moment to realize that the Soldier responsible wasn't their teammate. He had already turned his sights on them, and a moment later, he reduced BLU Engineer to an exploded mess, along with the dispenser that had been keeping BLU Heavy alive and his mini-TAT loaded. The rogue mercenary was farther from him than the two REDs had been, and his gun didn't do much more than slow him down as he tried to dodge incoming rockets.

Demoman stared on as the enemy team's Heavy became a scattered heap of blood, guts and bone meal. Beside him, Jane snapped, "What the hell is going on? I wasn't told we'd be fighting two RED teams this time!"

He glared at the blue-clad soldier. "You're askin' the wrong person. ...hold up, wasn't your group shot down the other day?"

Jane gave an angry snort. "What kind of a stupid-assed question is YES, our first transport was shot down by you bastards. Do you know the mad rush we were the rest of the day, just getting back here?"

"It weren't us who did that. We sent two of our lads out yesterday morning. They spotted your chopper on the way in, before they also got blasted out o' the sky." Demoman's gaze flickered back to the fight, and he swapped out Jane's shotgun for his launcher, hastening to reload it. Still frowning, he added, "There's other people on this island. I dinnae know when they got here, or what it is they're after, but it's pretty clear they're not keen on sharin' it with anyone else."

The BLU soldier rubbed his chin, then grumbled thoughtfully to himself as he shouldered his rocket launcher. "I'll bet that crazy bastard never gave up on the fight for this godforsaken jungle. Maybe he didn't even leave when the rest of us did. He could've been staking out the island for the last two years, just waiting for us to come back and try to take it away from him..."

"Ye've been here before?" Tavish had been preparing to bombard the renegade while his back was turned, but Jane's muttering threw off his concentration. It had answered a few questions that were on the Scotsman's mind, and raised even more. He tried to focus on taking aim, but was suddenly worried he might hit his remaining friends. (How far are they from where he's standing?)

The camouflaged Soldier had reloaded his Black Box and was angling for the other REDs, but Jane's teammates were none too pleased at the loss of their Heavy, and they sent him a barrage of flaming arrows as payback. All the mud caked into his trench coat made him flame-retardant, but didn't do much to protect him from sharp projectiles. Smoldering and bleeding from the arrows that had struck him, he directed his rage at BLU Sniper and Pyro instead. He fired on the Australian, who was more dangerous at long range, but BLU Sniper lunged towards his teammate and left the rocket flying off into oblivion.

By this point the remaining Engineer had noticed what was happening, and started struggling clumsily to reload his shotgun. RED Soldier, on the other hand, was clueless as always. Instead of pausing to wonder who his targets had turned to shoot at, he took advantage of the distraction and launched another high explosive towards them, screaming at the top of his lungs. With the two BLUs now bunched together, one shot was enough to finish them off. He was still cackling triumphantly when Engineer finally got his attention, amidst a desperate attempt to gun down the rogue mercenary.

Demoman could hear the Texan shouting, "Dammit, we've gotta kill that guy!" RED Soldier snapped around, hesitated, then scrambled to reload the empty launcher.

He couldn't tell whether or not Engineer was doing much damage, but having already lost Medic and Heavy, Tavish realized that he had to do something before he was out of allies. Cursing himself for neglecting to bring along a more powerful (albeit heavier) melee weapon, he shot a grenade towards the strange Soldier. It fell short of its mark and got stuck in the mud, then exploded. Demoman groaned, then snarled, "What the hell're ye waitin' for, Jane? Get him!"

Jane had been holding back, possibly with the intention of letting all his enemies take care of each other, but Demoman's words finally spurred him to action. "Alright, alright," he grunted, and took aim at the maverick. They had lost the element of surprise, though. Jane's target glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the rocket launcher's business end, then threw himself to the ground just as BLU Soldier pulled the trigger.

The missile flew straight over its intended victim and struck the dilapidated Jeep, which the other REDs had been using for cover. There was an explosion and a burst of rusty shrapnel, followed by a rumbling crash. Weakened by the recent rainfall, it had only required an extra push to collapse that section of the embankment. As Scout had discovered hours ago, much of the road ran along steep ravine on the north side. It was into this deep gulch that the rusty car, the men, and a large quantity of muddy gravel now tumbled.

As the smoke cleared, Tavish and Jane stared. For all intents and purposes, it looked like part of the roadside had simply ceased to exist, along with Demoman's teammates. (How could that happen? There's nothing left... I can't believe one rocket would have done so much damage.) He couldn't bring himself to blame the BLU mercenary. And yet... even though sudden and ghastly deaths were a common experience for Demoman and his cohorts, he felt oddly stricken by this accident. (I was standing around, watching them swap c-rations only a couple minutes ago. Fuck it! I have to keep fighting. It's up to me!)

The renegade Soldier was rising from the mud like a B-movie monster, glaring out from under his tilted helmet with piercing blue eyes. Beside Demoman, the last BLU fighter gritted his teeth audibly, and muttered, "Dammit, boys..."

Now it was down to a two-on-one battle, and neither Jane nor Tavish seemed optimistic about their odds of winning.


	10. Practical Problems

( _Author's note: aspects of this chapter have been toned-down in accordance with this site's rules about explicit sexual language; if you're desperate to see the un-edited version, it can be found at y-gallery, where my username is also Yaddie, and at my tumblr, helpmejesus dot tumblr dot com_

_I'm a big fan of Engineer/Soldier slash, and when I first began planning out this story, one of my ambitions was to have a vignette focusing on them. I hope I did it justice. _

_Very little is described canonically about Australium; it's essentially the deus ex machina behind Team Fortress 2's space-age technology. What it has been described as doing is transforming into different states, so I've taken a little leeway in interpreting the game's tech _(_and the implications of devices like the teleporters and dispensers_)_, and suggest it has a role in facilitating matter-energy and energy-matter conversions. Obviously, this has no basis in real-world science. ...none that I know of, anyhow. _)

* * *

The conflict between Tavish, Jane, and the maverick soldier had taken them away from the battle-scarred stretch of road where they first ran afoul of each other. It was at some point after which they were out of earshot, that Tavish's comrades - who he had last seen vanishing amidst a terrifying explosion - began to regain consciousness.

The passage of time was an uncertain thing for RED Engineer, as he lay in a dark, wet, painful place. He tried to take stock of his situation, starting with his physical state. (I'm cold... body hurts all over. Upside-down. ...have I been injured? Don't think any of my bones are broken...) Squinting in the darkness, he tensed both of his hands and found they could move normally - even the robotic one. He could still feel his toes, but something heavy was pinning his legs where they were. (Cave-in?) he thought, then frowned. (No. No, we weren't in a cave. We had been fighting the BLUs, I remember now. On the road leading to that plantation. They came after us in a helicopter, and...) Engineer groaned and clutched his head for a moment, hand clamping down over what remained of his headset the visor. He remembered being strafed by the BLU team's transport, but his memory of the battle became less clear from that point on.

Determined not to let himself languish, the Texan pried off the dark lenses he was wearing, and suddenly his position was much easier to understand. He was lying upside-down on the undercarriage of a car, which was also upside down and tilted at a steep angle. His head almost touched the rear axle, while his legs stretched up above him, knees bent over the front fender. Everything was surrounded by an aggregate of mud, gravel and foliage. Even from his awkward position, he could see the car was embedded in a hillside of debris. The heavy, wet gravel was heaped over his lower legs, and kept him hanging where he was.

"Well, shoot." Engineer groaned and stretched a little, then took a deep breath, and performed the most uncomfortable sit-up he'd experienced since his first day of basic, back when he was first hired on by RED. He'd been pretty good about maintaining his fitness since then, but he was feeling pretty stiff and sore after... (After what? How in the hell did I wind up like this, hanging upside-down at the bottom of a mudslide, in the middle of some kind of jungle warzone?) Either way, he managed to bend up double so he was clutching his knees, and took a moment's pause as the blood finally had a chance to drain from his head.

"Ohhhh... This's a real pickle I'm in, ain't it?" As the veil of darkness lifted from his eyes and he no longer felt as though he might faint, Engineer sighed and reached into the heap of gravel, which covered his legs from the knees down. With his mechanical right hand, he clawed blindly amongst the muddy debris until he found the ruined car's fender, then latched onto it with an iron grasp. This made him feel a little more secure, and free to dig out his legs with the other hand. It was with a great sense of relief that he finally got a look at them, and verified beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were intact.

Now, his job was to figure out how to get down safely, and locate his teammates. "If there's anyone left," he muttered. "Good Lord, am I the only one who survived all that?" As he brooded over the situation, Engineer took a better look at his surroundings.

He was at the bottom of a deep ravine with steep inclines to either side, one freshly coated by a landslide of gravel, the other embroidered with greenery of all kinds. Unbelievably tall palms grew up from the bottom of the gulch, as well as both hillsides. Shorter trees had sprung vines and roots in both directions, as though they were doubly determined to choke out the palms at ground and canopy level. As Engineer looked more closely at the vale's floor, he realized there was a concrete trough running its entire length. Although foliage obscured his view in either direction, he assumed it was a drainage channel. "I'll bet the whole compound drains out into this thing. ...probably could get there if I follow it in that direction..."

The rusted-out Jeep that had fallen down the landslide with him was at the bottom of the ravine. It had come to rest just before the lip of the concrete gutter, and after a moment of stretching and wriggling, Engineer dropped off the car and onto the ground. The landslide had filled a portion of the channel with gravel, but Engineer was far too busy to worry about digging it out.

He had to see if anyone else was around. "Sarge," he gasped, recalling more of those fateful moments before he blacked out. "We were together, usin' that rust-bucket for cover. Musta been hit by a rocket..." Frantically looking around the gloomy, overgrown ravine, Engineer took a shaky breath and raised his voice. "You there, Sarge? Sarge! Can ya hear me?"

As Engineer began hunting through the debris, he found his toolbox and pieces of the destroyed sentry he'd been working on, all embedded in material from the landslide. His heart clenched. In his mind's eye, he could see his friend slowly dying of cold and suffocation, body broken and twisted under hundreds of pounds of that loose, muddy gravel. (He's buried under the landslide, I just know it. There's nowhere else he could be. Buried alive...) The horrible scenario took hold of Engineer's mind and filled him with an overwhelming sense of anguish. Part of him wanted to collapse into the dirt and give up. Call off the dogs, go back home, surrender their futile mission. Grimacing, Engineer dug his metal claws into a tree trunk and gave a shuddering sigh. Deep down, somewhere under the pain and despair he was feeling, he knew that he still had work to do. It was a cold comfort for him now, but it was something he could hold onto, something to keep him going. In a cracked voice, he gave one last cry. "Sarge..?"

From somewhere behind him, there was a wet, sputtering cough. His heart skipped a beat. He whirled around and scrambled over hillocks of debris, following that sound. A half-buried mangrove root snagged one of his boots, and Engineer went tumbling into the concrete trough. Down amongst cold, mucky water and heaps of fresh dirt, he discovered his tattered Soldier lying on his side under a clump of uprooted bushes.

The older man was breathing. Engineer grasped his shoulder and patted him, then whispered. "You awake there, Sarge? Can y'hear me?" As Engineer talked, he pushed the foliage away and began to examine his teammate. He had avoided burial of any degree, and his whole body showed signs of mobility, which meant his back hadn't been broken in the fall. Soldier's pants were torn and blood-stained above the knees, though. This warranted a closer examination. Getting him out of the ditch would be Engineer's first priority.

"Nngh... dammit, can't hear that bitch over th' P.A... we lose the match, private?" Soldier groaned and grumbled, clawing weakly at the muck as though seeking purchase. Engineer leaned over and slid his hands beneath Soldier, then grabbed him under the arms and lifted him up. His response was immediate and powerful. He wrapped his burly arms across Engineer's back and clung to the smaller man.

With a grunt of effort, Engineer summoned all of his strength and hauled Soldier up off his feet. After an awkward moment where he was unsure how to proceed, he turned his backside to one side of the channel and sat on the trough's concrete lip. As he did so, he pulled Soldier on top of himself. Once they were out, Engineer groaned and flopped onto his back, feeling exhausted. His teammate went down with him, and for a few moments he just lay there underneath Soldier, feeling the man's breath on his cheek. (If we were doing this in different circumstances, I'm pretty sure I'd be getting a hard-on right about now.)

Engineer was sore and stiff in different places, and he knew his friend was injured. He rubbed Soldier's back to get his attention, and softly spoke. "Alright, Sarge. I'm gonna roll you over now. Gotta take a look at you 'n see how bad your legs are. You ready?"

Although he had been quiet up until now and was barely moving, Soldier's awareness seemed to have returned to him. He nodded a bit, and grunted, "Affirmative. Don't think they're broken, but I'm not-" Soldier's face went chalk-white for a moment as he was repositioned, and he bit down hard on his lip, no doubt doing his utmost not to show any signs of pain. Once he was settled down, he took a deep breath, then found his voice again. " I'm not sure. Maybe, uhh... maybe we oughta take a look at them, just in case. Marching with broken legs is well, it's more complicated than-"

As Engineer cut away the fabric between Soldier's thighs and shins, the older American grit his teeth audibly. Both of his legs were heavily bruised, particularly above the knee. There weren't any outward signs of breakage on the left leg, but the other one was a nauseating sight for Engineer; his teammate was clearly suffering a fractured femur, part of which was protruding through a jagged tear in the meaty flesh of his right thigh.

In a choked voice, the Texan muttered, "This don't look good. Not good at all." He realized that Soldier had been watching him over the course of the impromptu medical exam, assessing the severity of the wounds by Engineer's reaction to them. Struggling not to throw up his c-rations, he put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Ah might be able to fix you up, but I'll need some time. Probably hafta take a walk over yonder, see if I can scavenge parts from the sentry tower you shot down."

Soldier's heavy brow creased, giving him a troubled appearance. He clasped one of his hands tightly over Engineer's and sighed, stifling a groan. "If you think this is the best course of action, then...rgh, then do it, Engie. I'm not leaving this damn fight! Not not yet."

Engineer nodded, and it took all his strength to hold back burning tears. He was both joyful to still have a friend nearby after that massacre, but devastated to see how much pain that friend was in. Soldier could put on a face braver than any of his teammates, even when horribly mutilated, but Engineer knew him well enough to recognize that he was in terrible agony. Even while he was encouraging the mechanic to jury-rig a healing unit, there was an unspoken thought the two shared: It would be easier to let respawn take care of things, better to- (No. No, I can't... If he wants to keep hanging on here, I'm going to help him. I have to.)

"I'll be quick as I can, Sarge," he said. His voice was low and gentle, and he squeezed the older American's shoulder reassuringly. "You just hang in there, and I'll do everything I can."

"I'm counting on you, Private. I'll sit tight, and- ngh... and keep watch on our encampment." Soldier's face was stoic, but the tightness of his grasp betrayed him; the only thing worse than death was the anticipation of it. He knew that without the Engineer's help, he would suffer at the bottom of the ravine for days, before exposure or blood poisoning surrendered him to the respawn system. After a long moment, Soldier reluctantly drew his hand away and nodded a bit. "...watch your back out there."

The Texan managed a wan smile. "Ah'll be back before you know it, buddy. Promise." Then he turned and walked off through the undergrowth, trying to ignore the erratic palpitations in his heart, and stay focused.

* * *

Miraculously, Engineer's toolbox hadn't opened up during the landslide. It didn't take long for him to dig it out. Its contents were shaken, but undamaged for the most part. "That's what you get for usin' the best there is," he murmured, smiling a little. The remains of his building were scattered far and wide, but the most important component the Australium-laced circuit board was seriously damaged. "...it'd take hours for me to solder those wires back together. Might hafta make do with that anyhow, if I can't find somethin' better." He put it in with his tools, then lugged the toolbox across the channel and set it down in plain sight. The chances of anyone finding it were nil, so he wasn't too worried about theft.

Engineer was still sore from his ride into the ravine, but none of his injuries were too serious. Even the bloody laceration the BLU soldier gave him was little more than a scratch, and had long since stopped bleeding. All in all, he was in good enough shape to pursue his next, more dubious goal: to find the sentry tower that Soldier had destroyed before the battle. Wishing that he'd brought a pair of gumboots, the Texan crawled down into the drainage channel and slogged along. About a hundred yards down the ravine, Engineer wriggled his way between some fallen palm trees and found the thing he had been looking for.

Soldier's rocket barrage had destroyed a lot of trees and bushes, but the embankment alongside that stretch of road was sturdier than in the area where they'd clashed with the BLUs. Most of the palms were still up by the road, or hanging down the incline by their roots. Only a few scorched trunks had actually been thrown into the gulch below. They were just innocent bystanders. The real target in Soldier's rain of high-explosive destruction had been a suspected sentry tower. It had been blasted clear of its foundations and thrown into the ravine, right where Engineer was hoping to find it.

After all the fun he'd had so far today, this turn of events was almost enough to make him cry tears of joy. Engineer gleefully flung his rubber glove aside, then set to work on the sentry's outer casing with the Gunslinger; undoing fasteners, screws, and even ripping apart shoddy wielding, he laid the machine's inner workings bare.

Engineer went straight for the manufacturing module, where he was hoping to find an intact Australium circuit board. It was the nigh-mythic metal that gave sentries their never-ending ammunition, just as it was Australium that made dispensers a limitless source of supplies in the battlefield. The metal was invaluable because of its alchemical powers, and even a certified genius could only begin to understand the ways it could transform and catalyze other materials exposed to it.

If Engineer wanted to cobble together a dispenser's healing unit, he'd need Australium to do it.

Although he wasn't the man who invented the Medi-gun, Engineer had studied the device in great detail. A dispenser's healing system was based on the unit that Medic carried into every battle. It emitted streams of healing plasma, the same luminous, gassy rays that Medic bathed his patients in. Although it was no replacement for a real field doctor, a dispenser could mend broken bones and heal torn flesh.

"I'll just hafta set the bone so's he'll be able to walk normally once it's mended. Simple as that." Engineer mumbled to himself as he worked, opening the sentry's manufacturing module, then carefully removing the precious parts he needed. Once he had what he came for, he grabbed the module's casing as well, just so he'd have a body for the buckshee dispenser.

Hoping there wasn't something he'd missed, Engineer secured the salvaged circuit board, and started back to where he'd left his toolbox. High overhead, he could hear the canopy rustle from an afternoon breeze, but the air down in the gulch was still and muggy. Once he retrieved his toolbox as well, he made the final push back to where Soldier was languishing.

* * *

The second he arrived, Engineer put down the toolbox and hurried over to Soldier's side, kneeling down and grasping the other man's shoulder with a shaky hand. "You still with us, Sarge?" He looked over Soldier's burly body, checking for any signs that his condition had changed.

"Haven't moved an inch," Soldier muttered, opening his eyes at the sound of Engineer's voice. He was red in the face and sweating profusely in the steamy air, which probably didn't do much for his comfort. Worse, flies were gathering curiously around his open wound. A shudder of revulsion ran down the Texan's spine. Now steak was ruined for him, too. Great.

"I- I'm gonna start workin' on that machine in a minute, but I think I better take a break and see if I can't help you out over here." Reaching into one of his overalls' deep pockets, Engineer pulled out a strange flask, silvery in color and cool to the touch, and offered it to Soldier. "You look like you could use a long, cold drink of water."

Soldier nodded, visibly struggling to keep a stoic face. "I sure could, private. This ditch is like the shower room at the end of a long week. It's wet, coated in filth, and reeks like ass." As he spoke, Soldier pushed his helmet aside and shakily wiped the sweat from his brow, then pressed the flask's cold surface against his forehead.

Engineer scooted around behind Soldier, then tentatively slipped his hands under the man's shoulder blades. "Mind if I, uh... help you sit up a little? So you don't end up takin' any of it down the wrong pipe, I mean."

If the situation were different, the bigger man probably would have rejected this offer, but deep down he probably knew he was too weak to sit upright on his own. He nodded and grumbled incoherently as Engineer wriggled closer to him. Once he was propped up against his short, stocky teammate, Soldier drank long and slow of the canteen's ice-cold water. After a few quiet moments, he lowered the canteen and sagged in Engineer's grasp, gasping for breath. "Thanks Engie, I... I really needed that."

The Texan smiled gently, reaching up to mop Soldier's temples with a shirtsleeve. "Just lookin' out for ya, Sarge. I know you'd do the same for me."

Soldier chuckled a little, without a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Yeah... I would, wouldn't I? It's just us here now, until they ship the rest of the team back from Teufort."

Engineer took his canteen back for a moment and had a couple gulps of water, then closed it and set it down by Soldier's hand. "I'd better get workin' now, before anything gets too interested in your leg, there. Here, why don't we get you outta that jacket? I can fold it up for you ta rest your head on."

The older man gave a vague grunt of objection and insisted on wrestling out of the dirty trench-coat on his own, but he let his teammate have it afterwards. After bundling the coat up so the cleanest part was on top, Engineer shifted off to one side and helped Soldier lay back again, wedging the impromptu pillow under his head so at least one part of his body wouldn't be resting in the dirt. Doing his best to ignore the pain, he drifted off to an uneasy slumber.

The toolbox and metal casing were not far from Soldier, and as Engineer set to work, he felt a little better knowing he had eased his friend's suffering. The task at hand gave him a chance do what he did best, and forget all the troubles that were hampering this mission, if only for a while. As he cobbled together bits and bobs from the machines he'd salvaged, Engineer's mind was elevated to the realm of all things technological. Every complication in his plan was not a frustrating setback, but merely a problem to be solved, a challenge to be overcome.

He paused to rub some sweat from his face, and felt his hand bump into something. His night-vision headset, broken during the same accident that sent the two Americans into the ravine. Disappointment gnawed at him for a moment, and he regretted that it would never get to serve its intended purpose. "That's just dumb luck, I guess... Hell, it ain't the worst." Studying his half-finished contraption, he realized the night-vision headset could serve a purpose right now. A quiet little laugh escaped him, and he pulled the device off his head, then set to work stripping down the electro sensory module. "And here I'd been wonderin' how I was gonna focus that stream of plasma..."

* * *

Nightfall was still a few hours away, but it was definitely getting darker down in the gulley. Birds cried out in the trees overhead, and Soldier was snoring and mumbling where he lay. The focused Engineer didn't hear a thing. Every iota of his consciousness was zeroed in on the machine he was building. His eyes had been adjusting well to the failing light, and it was only after he made his final weld that Engineer realized how much time had passed. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, vaguely anxious that he could have missed some significant change to his surroundings, but everything was as it had been.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Engineer set his tools aside, then started the healing unit on its first real test-run. He'd performed smaller tests of the separate parts while he was assembling it, but he wouldn't feel safe using it on his teammate before he knew it worked as intended. With no other people in the area, though, he was stuck making himself the subject of his own experiment.

Engineer's most severe injuries had been healed hours ago by Medic, just after the BLU chopper strafed him. He'd suffered some deep bruises since, but nothing as severe as gunshots. The only obvious cut had been to his scalp, and he had no mirror to examine it now. Still, as the red plume of energy wafted over him and began permeating his body, Engineer started to feel better. Even his joints and muscles, which had been crying out after hours of crouching, were now losing their aches and pains. The Texan rose to his feet and stretched, giving a sigh of relief. He was tempted to cheer or dance for joy, but he knew there was one more bridge for him to cross before he could mend his wounded friend.

He powered the unit down and carried it over to where Soldier was resting. Sitting it on the ground, he kneeled beside the larger man and patted his arm. "Hey there, Sarge. Hate ta wake you up, but I've got some good news, and some bad news."

"Hmmngh... hmm?" Soldier blinked owlishly as he was roused from napping. He still looked pretty hard-done-by, but Engineer's cold water flask, and the removal of his jacket, had kept him from succumbing to heat exhaustion. "Hit me with it, private."

"The good news is I've cobbled together some parts I was able to scrounge, and we've got ourselves a healin' machine. I dunno how fast it'll work, but it should be able to get you on your feet again. Now, the bad news. Before I get that thing to work on you, I'm gonna have to set that broken leg you've got there. Or- well, get the end of it back inside you, anyhow. Wouldn't wanna just leave it as it is, or it'll heal up all crooked, and God knows if it'd be any good for walkin' on." Engineer nervously rubbed his teammate's bicep, more anxious for the procedure ahead than for Soldier's reaction.

Soldier sighed and hunched his shoulders a little, but the look on his face was as stoic as before. "Pain is just weakness leaving the body! I can stomach anything if it'll get me back in fighting form, Engie. You just do whatever it is you have to."

The Texan nodded, hiding his trepidation as best he could. He scooted over to a spot where the machine and the injury were both in arm's reach, then cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath. "Okay... reckon I'll hafta hold it in place until it's knitted itself together. I'm gonna shift your whole leg here, sorta- sorta stretch it out a bit, so the part that's pokin' out will get drawn back inside. You want somethin' to bite down on? This is gonna hurt like a bitch..."

Engineer's hands hovered over either side of the grisly wound. His wide, blue eyes swiveled nervously to regard Soldier, who frowned and shook his head. "No? Alright. Take a deep breath, then. I'm going in one... two... three."

Every fiber of Engineer's being wanted to turn away in revulsion. His mind was incessantly replaying the morning's gruesome scene, where he saved Medic by manually cramming chunks of viscera back into the poor man's body. Choking back his reluctance, he gently tugged Soldier's knee downwards until the jagged stump of femur was drawn back into place, inside of the man's thigh. He clamped his robotic appendage over the injury, hoping that would be enough to keep the bones aligned, then switched on the healing unit with his free hand.

As the red fumes started to work their magic, Engineer glanced over at Soldier's face. His expression was twisted with agony, lips drawn back in a teeth-baring grimace, eyebrows furrowed, tears of pain starting from the corners of his tightly closed eyes. The younger man felt a jolt of shame and looked away, feeling his own face turn red. Normal as it was for people to shed tears, Engineer always felt uncomfortable when confronted with the sight of them. He never knew if a crying person would welcome a comforting gesture from him, or lash out in resentment. The only thing worse was being the weeping individual himself.

Engineer groaned faintly and looked back down at Soldier's damaged leg. Some blood had seeped up between his gloved, robotic fingers, but the torn flesh was mending, the bruises on both legs fading to dull shadows of their former selves. The flashbacks of fumbling with Medic's innards were fading, too, which was a great relief to Engineer.

Soldier gave a long, shaky exhalation, and gradually relaxed his body as the machine did its thing. At length, he opened his eyes and met with Engineer's gentle gaze. "My leg's feeling a lot better now. You've pulled off some pretty incredible work on the fly, haven't you? First patching up the Doc, now me." He rubbed the moisture from the corners of his eyes, then thumped a fist against his barrel-chest and smiled wearily. "I don't know where the team would be without you."

"Hell, Sarge, I knew I couldn't sit on my duff and wait for everyone else to get back here. I'm just glad I was able to help you... even if it's gettin' too late to travel far, it woulda been mighty lonesome, sloggin' through this jungle alone." The Texan gave a bashful smile, and reached for his teammate's shoulder.

In a sudden, surprisingly fast motion, Soldier caught Engineer's hand in one of his large mitts. Grasping it firmly but gently, he stroked Engineer's wrist with his thumb. The Texan swallowed audibly, blinking and confused. Soldier's face was inscrutable, however. In a quiet voice, he said, "No need to be so damned humble about your work ethic, private, there's nobody else in this unit as devoted to solving problems as you are. I'm not exaggerating when I say you've done an amazing job today...Thanks, Engie."

Engineer could feel his face go red again. While he was hardly ashamed to be such a hard worker, he had always resisted the urge to brag about things, preferring to harbour a private feeling of intellectual superiority. With eleven PhD's under his belt, there was really no question among the team that he was, by far, the smartest. Or the most dedicated to academia, at any rate.

Still, he often felt scholastic accomplishments didn't seem to get the credit they deserved. His teammates always engaged in one-upmanship related to violence, after all. So hearing the man who was generally considered the biggest knucklehead on the team the screaming, lantern-jawed berserker complimenting his technical prowess, was actually quite gratifying for Engineer. He couldn't help but grin.

"Anythin' for you, pardner."

* * *

The jury-rigged contraption didn't take long to mend the worst of Soldier's injuries. As he did a few stretches and got re-accustomed to standing on his own two feet, he could feel his strength return. After hours of lying prostrate, suffering through fever-dreams and spectacular, bone-grinding agony, Soldier found himself suddenly in perfect health. The arousing sense of invigoration was something everyone on the team knew well; it always came when extensive, painful or debilitating wounds were reversed by the Medi-gun, or similar technologies.

He felt ready to charge off into the jungle and dismember the first enemy foolish enough to cross his path, so knowing that it would soon be too dark to travel safely was rather frustrating. As Engineer busied himself packing up his toolbox, Soldier took a survey of the area they were in. The collapsed embankment was a troubling sight, but with his mind free from the distraction of terrible pain, Soldier was now capable of piecing together the events that had lead to his awakening in a concrete stream-bed.

"Did you see my backpack while you were picking through that mess, private?" he asked, scanning the foliage for his precious belongings.

Engineer glanced over his shoulder for a moment, frowning pensively. "Mighta' been near the spot my toolbox was buried... your rocket launcher wouldn't have been in it, though."

Soldier started towards the cascade of debris, glowering at it. "Dammit! That's my most important tool! If someone made off with it while I was unconscious, I will find that son-of-a-bitch and I will personally SHOVE IT UP HIS-" His voice broke off into an embarrassing yelp of surprise, as he snagged his foot on something in the undergrowth. Soldier managed not to fall, thanks to his lightning-fast reflexes. As he half-staggered, half-pirouetted to a stable position, he looked down and realized it wasn't a booby trap that had nearly tripped him. "Call off the search! I have located the missing ordinance!"

He found his backpack soon after, which was a great relief as well- there were some more weapons in there. After securing his muddy jacket to the underside of his pack, Soldier was ready to move out. He absentmindedly turned Engineer's cold-water flask in his hands, and watched as the Texan disassembled the healing unit into neat, easily packaged modules.

"Need any help with that?"

Engineer looked up from his work, then smiled sheepishly. "Nah, I'm pretty-much done. Although... if you don't mind packing an extra few pounds along, could I strap this casing to yer rucksack? It ain't essential, but it'll protect the healin' machine when I set it up again. I just don't have room for it in my toolbox."

A wide grin tugged at Soldier's face. "Private, I would be willing to carry around two of you if I had to! Strap it on, we've got to find cover before nightfall."

* * *

The two men began their journey along the same route Scout had travelled, slopping their way down the long drainage trough to its source. Soldier was desperately hoping to find an enemy along the way, but the renegade who had attacked them was apparently making himself scarce. With no animals larger than a bird or an opossum on the island, his chances of getting to fight something before dark were disappointingly low.

As they came up on the large culvert, Soldier frowned, squinting into the gloom. "You have a flashlight, Engie? I can't see a Goddamn thing in there."

"Of course," the younger man said, smiling. He propped the toolbox against his hip, then fished a flashlight out of his pocket and handed it to Soldier. "Hang onto that, I gotta' use both my hands to lug this toolbox around."

Dark, confined spaces weren't Soldier's favourite thing in the world, but holding the light gave him a reassuring sense of control. He illuminated the dingy tunnel and stooped a bit, then steeled himself and pressed onwards. The flashlight reflected off the cold, dirty water, sending back beams of light that dazzled his eyes.

A rather large snake wriggled in the spotlight for a moment, and Soldier choked back a yell of surprise; he suddenly wished he knew what the dangerous ones looked like. Were there poisonous snakes on the island? Or anacondas? There was an article about anacondas in his last issue of "Patriot's Life Magazine", advising that they could squeeze the life out of even the hardiest man, or swallow him whole while he slept. "...those devious commie reptiles," he murmured.

As Soldier balked, a reassuring voice cut into his paranoid fantasies. "Somethin' wrong over there? Y'see anything?"

He swallowed audibly. "No, it's- there's nothing. Nothing here." Engineer was closing in from behind him, cutting off his escape route. With no alternative, Soldier summoned his courage and kept going. After an uneasy slog through the creeping darkness, he was relieved to exit the culvert and find they were in an open pit, with a ladder to the surface and a locked door - the same one Scout, Sniper, and BLU Spy investigated earlier.

"Well, well, well... if we want to find those bastards, I don't think we'll have to search much longer. See that door, Engie?" With the sun rapidly making its departure for the evening, the flashlight was becoming more and more useful. Soldier turned its beam on the keypad by the door, which was coated in a patina of grime and dried blood.

"I reckon they've been usin' that one pretty recently," Engineer said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Wonder how hard it'd be for me ta override that..."

Soldier squared his mastiff jaw, frowning at the obstacle. "With all due respect, private, I think blowing the door down would be quicker."

A smile creased Engineer's mouth, and he set his toolbox down, then firmly patted the older American's shoulder. "Too true, Sarge. But think of it this way- once we kill those- those people, whoever they are- we're still gonna' have the BLU's ta fight. Y'see the logo under that peephole? "RED Company". This's gonna' be OUR base."

The frown persisted on Soldier's face, deepening as Engineer began to argue against solving this problem with the quick, satisfying use of explosives. As he continued to listen, though, his irritation began to fade... the Texan opened his eyes to a different perspective, one that took the long term into account. "I see... This is a war we're fighting, after all! Not just a few skirmishes. If we're going to take this island and hold it against the BLUs, we'll need a good, defensible position to do that from!" Soldier nodded slowly as his mind worked, and he decided it really would be best to leave this to the mechanic. He looked to Engineer and clapped a hand against his back. "Good thinking, Engie! This one's gonna' be yours."

"I'll get right on it, Sarge." Engineer looked back at Soldier, smiling warmly, then stooped down and started rifling through his toolbox, gathering supplies. With nothing else to do, Soldier held the flashlight and watched him work.

As Engineer degloved the Gunslinger and began fiddling with wires, Soldier's mind was free to meander wherever it pleased. His thoughts wandered back to the conversation with they just had, then continued its leisurely stroll further back along the day's events: The dreadful moment where he let go of Engineer's hand, and watched him vanish into the undergrowth... The wretched fever-dreams that Engineer rescued him from, with a gentle touch and ice-cold water... That indescribable surge of vitality he felt when Engineer restored him to health...

A weird sensation flared up in his chest, sending waves of warmth that rolled down his back and his thighs, down to the pit of his stomach, and the root of his hardening cock. It wasn't the first time this had happened, by any stretch of the imagination. Despite what he'd been told in his formative years, Soldier had eventually determined that it wasn't a precursor to blindness, or even petrification. While that was a great relief to his adolescent mind, it didn't help him understand it any better.

As he metamorphosed from boy to man, Soldier's concept of arousal developed into something close to normal - at least, it had never earned him any jail time - although he had the most success in following through with partners who barely spoke English. Women who understood everything he was saying usually turned the other way. The fleeting sensations of a one-night stand were acceptable for a military man. But when the emotions persisted long after such an encounter, or worse - when the object of his desire was inappropriate, politically suspect, even deviant that was when Soldier found himself troubled by what went on beneath his uniform.

He frowned a bit, even as pleasure was tingling through his fundament, conjuring idle fantasies and lascivious, half-formed desires. Still holding the flashlight for his working companion, Soldier began muttering to himself. He had a hard time with internal monologues. "I'm a soldier, dammit. A military man. I must be focused on the mission during my every waking moment, and exert all my strength towards completing our task in this mosquito-infested tropical paradise."

"You say somethin' back there?" Engineer asked absentmindedly, not looking back. His attention was centered on a jumble of wires, connecting the Gunslinger to the grubby keypad beside the door.

Soldier almost jumped, but immediately assumed a professional deadpan. "Nothing, private! Just contemplating the implications of Federalist paper No. 29 on present-day legislation restricting the rights, freedoms and legal concessions granted to organizations such as-"

"Oh, ah see. Don't let me distract ya," Engineer said, glancing back to Soldier with a wink. He then returned to his work, humming quietly.

The older American slouched a little, and felt his mind start wandering again. A pang of longing struck him as he remembered the night before; frustration had been his overwhelming emotional state most of that evening, but when he drifted off to sleep with Engineer by his side, he had been warm, dry, and thoroughly relaxed. He frowned. (Why would I want to be back in that hotel? A soldier's place is out in the field! Physical comfort is a luxury that only sissies need to get by. Real men are ready to fight anytime, anywhere, regardless of insignificant things like hunger or fatigue.) Soldier was in the midst of convincing himself he didn't need sleep, when a sudden noise sent sharp stabs of alarm through his heart.

It was Engineer, giving a yell of pain as sparks exploded from something he was working with. Soldier dropped the flashlight in a panic and lunged to grab the other man's shoulders, before realizing that the Texan's yelling had progressed to much less worrisome sounds of anger and irritation.

"Damn- dammit- dagnabbit! Goddamn incompatible power spectral density-" Engineer seemed to be thrashing a little, but in the dying light his problem was unclear. After fumbling to retrieve the flashlight, Soldier discovered the source of Engineer's troubles: the Gunslinger, his robotic right forearm, was twitching involuntarily and smoking. There was smoke coming from the keypad on the wall, too, and the occasional spark.

"You alright there, Engie? What's your status?"

Engineer groaned wearily and reached out with his real hand, clutching the wall for support. "Dammit, Sarge, I... Somethin' went wrong, it seems like the voltage that facility's running on up and changed for a moment there. I dunno, maybe the generator's been pushed too hard... they mighta' redistributed the flow of electricity, or..." He cursed and pounded the wall with his fist, while the prosthetic went still and silent. "Whatever happened, I don't think I'm gonna' be good for anything needin' the use of both hands, not until I can sit down and take a look at my Gunslinger. Probably just a burned-out diode, or an actuator that needs tuning... dammit!"

A rumbling growl of frustration rose from Soldier's chest. "That's all for tonight, then, isn't it... ...well, here. Let me climb up out of this hole. Think you can lift your toolbox up one-handed? I can reach down, take it the rest of the way."

"Yeah," Engineer said, looking remorseful. "Yeah, I can do that."

Soldier's brow creased pensively as he climbed out of the pit, then set the flashlight and his pack to one side, and reached down to take Engineer's toolbox up for him. He had seen this expression on Engineer's face before, when the genius had made a mistake, or a miscalculation. After the heavy toolbox was safely on the ground, Soldier looked back to see his teammate, who was struggling with the ladder. He crouched by the edge of the hole and leaned over, extending his grasp to Engineer's damaged prosthetic.

"Here, Engie. I can give you a hand."

Engineer shot him an uncharacteristically moody look, hesitating for reasons that weren't apparent to Soldier. After an awkward pause, he sighed, and finally lifted the immobile hand into the other man's grip. "...alright, I guess I'll get out faster with yer help."

Once both men were out, they found themselves in a patch of thin forest. Off to their right, Soldier could see some outdoor sodium lamps and the dark shapes of buildings. He hefted his backpack on, then glanced uncertainly at Engineer before taking the toolbox, too. "You want to lead the way, private? Looks like we've got a courtyard off to our three o'clock."

The mechanic had been sullenly examining his robot arm, but at Soldier's suggestion, he sighed and nodded. "Alright... guess I oughta try and make myself useful, somehow." He picked up the flashlight from where Soldier had left it, and began trudging through the undergrowth, towards the lights.

Engineer's change of mood hadn't slipped past Soldier's radar. It was actually sort of troubling to him; even in dire situations, the Texan always did his best to keep his chin up. To see him lapse into morose silence at something comparatively insignificant, well, it confounded Soldier. (He didn't get anyone killed, or lose a point we'd been holding... hell, I'm not even chewing him out! Why's he so unhappy? That mechanical mitt of his isn't even broken that badly, he said so himself.) He scratched his monumental chin, brow knitted with concern.

The artificial lighting was stark, showing the courtyard in pale yellow and making every shadow pitch black. Muddy footprints on the ground- traces of Scout, Sniper and the BLU Spy- were indistinct, and all Soldier could see of the alcove where they met was a filthy, dark hole.

Kitty-corner to the old BLU headquarters was a wooden building, and when Engineer's flashlight showed the entrance to be clear of traps, he gestured to it. "Might as well pop in there an' take a look. I'll go first... Worst thing that might happen is you lose a little dead weight."

As Engineer slipped into the doorway, Soldier hurried after him, feeling an unprecedented flare of anger in his chest.

Just past the entryway, the building opened up into an empty mess-hall, with a few closed doors on the far wall. As he caught up to Engineer, Soldier dropped the tool-box on a wooden table, then grabbed the smaller man's shoulders from behind. He gave him a good shake, and snarled, " I don't want to hear ANYTHING like that from a member of MY TEAM. If there is a problem, private, you will do what's necessary to sort it out, or- or so help me God, I will..."

Engineer cringed in surprise, then shook himself free and turned to face Soldier, his face pinched in an expression of bitterness. "Where the hell do you get off sayin'- dammit, of course there's a problem! Look, I ain't no good to anyone with this mechanical hand busted."

"Are you right-handed, private?" Soldier asked, squaring his jaw.

The smaller man glowered at his teammate. "No, I was born a southpaw. They tried to beat it outta me in school, I can more-or-less work with either one."

"Then how can you look me in the eye and say you're useless?" With his helmet ajar, Soldier really was seeing eye-to-eye with Engineer literally, if not figuratively. "You say you're dead weight? Then do something about it! You said you could fix the problem, right?"

Engineer heaved a sigh, then spoke in a voice that was more hoarse than usual. "That could take hours. ...I guess there's no reason it's gotta' occupy your time, now that I think about it. You're fixed up and you've got your weapons- you'd be better off goin' on without me."

Soldier hesitated. The thought of leaving Engineer hadn't even occurred to him. It only took a moment's consideration for him to reject the idea, though. "Negatory on that, private, I'm staying with you."

"Why'd you do that? I'll only slow you down, dammit. You might get somethin' done out there, if you leave me now..." Now the Texan's brow creased, and he fidgeted, clutching at the flashlight.

The older American clasped his hands over Engineer's shoulders and stared at him for a long moment. Up until that point, he knew exactly what to say, but now words were failing him. He swallowed with an audible click, cleared his throat, then finally forced himself to start talking again. "I won't leave you. You... you've never abandoned me in the field. This afternoon, when anyone else would have put me out of my misery... you stayed. Got me back on my feet, even though it took hours of your time to do it." He paused to take a deep breath, and tried to ignore the pain in his throat. "This is a warzone, private. Too dangerous for you to repair that thing without someone watching your back. And even if it wasn't, I- I still couldn't leave you."

Engineer had an odd expression on his face, as he looked up at Soldier with uncertain eyes. "Why's that, Sarge?"

Grimacing, Soldier had the nagging impression that he barely knew what the hell he was about to do. There was an ache in his chest which was most certainly not a heart attack in process, and deep inside him, he could feel that heat continuing to steadily brew, creeping out over his body in thrilling little tendrils. Unable to articulate himself or hold back any longer, he reached out and crushed Engineer against his chest in a rough bear-hug.

* * *

It was not because of some harsh upbringing that Engineer was a perfectionist. Rather, the trait just seemed to run in his blood. Like his ancestors before him, he had a brilliant mind, and with the mental expanse of genius came a tendency to go full-blown neurotic. Engineer kept his eccentricities in check, of course. Unlike a true madman, he was cursed with an acute awareness of what was and wasn't considered normal behavior. Moreover, he tended to be soft-spoken and agreeable despite his quirks. He didn't like to raise a fuss, so even when his mental extremes were driving him to rage or despair, he did his best to clam up and not bother anyone else with them.

Hence why his anger manifested when he failed to override the RED base's electronic lock, and damaged the Gunslinger in the process. Engineer held himself to different standards than his teammates, even the ones he considered close. While a friend's error was always forgivable, Engineer's mistakes were a catastrophe in his own mind. He was still beating himself up over it as Soldier helped him up the ladder, brooding as the bigger man carried his toolbox for him, tying himself in knots when his teammate confronted him in the mess hall. Engineer knew that Soldier could never understand why he treated himself harshly, as much as he knew his feelings of failure were overinflated. He had argued with people in the past over incidents like this, and never been able to overcome his irrational thoughts. The best he could do was let them fade, which could take hours, or even days.

In the dark stillness of the disused mess, however, something new happened. Two new things, really. The first was the person arguing with him. Soldier was abnormally stubborn, and in his own gruff way, he seemed to have unyielding faith in Engineer. He didn't stoop to tired bromides like "Everyone makes mistakes", or "You'll do better next time".

The second new thing was Engineer's surprise when the bigger man hugged him. Maybe it was the tightness of the embrace, or the man doing the embracing amidst a heated argument, but Engineer was shocked out of his fugue. He stood confused, staring at the side of Soldier's head, feeling Soldier's breath on his neck. After a moment, he squirmed a little and, finding his arms trapped, just pressed his cheek against the other man's and gave a soft sigh.

"Thanks," Engineer said quietly, breathing in Soldier's scent. He smelled like the jungle, mostly, but there was a hint of sweat and cheap hotel soap as well. When he made a sound that might have been intended as a question, Engineer added, "Fer... y'know. Puttin' up with me..."

When Soldier finally spoke, his voice was even and oddly thoughtful. "You're a good man, private. A smart man. You've even taught an old dog like me some new things. I think about you a lot..." He paused, clearing his throat a little, then nodded. "You're an inspiration."

Although Soldier sounded calm, Engineer could feel his heart thundering in his chest, and there was something else. With a little determined wriggling, the mechanic got his arms free and dropped his flashlight on a table, then returned the embrace. Although the prosthetic on his right arm was useless right now, Engineer's left hand was free to rub Soldier's flank, and pat the man's back. "You mean a lot t'me too, Sarge. Seems like whenever you see me in some kinda bad state, you're always there to offer a helping hand. Ah like you."

In the dim light, he could see Soldier lean back a bit and look down at him. The older American seemed sort of confounded to be holding him so tight, exchanging quiet words. Engineer felt something hard nudge against his thigh, and smiled warmly, giving Soldier a sly glance. "You got somethin' in your pocket, Sarge, or are you just in a real good mood all of a sudden?"

Soldier seemed pretty flustered by this comment, and cleared his throat again, straightening his posture. His hands fumbled for a suitable place to rest, then settled at Engineer's waist. "I am unaware of any such 'something', private, and IF I were, I would be UNAUTHORIZED to disclose information pertaining to "

"C'mon, we're both men, here. Ain't no shame in it, if it don't mean nothin'." Engineer raised his eyebrows a little, still smiling. He was hoping it did mean something, of course. Soldier was one of his closest friends, one he'd entertained thoughts of getting closer to. After all the things they'd been through over course of the day, he desperately needed something to soothe his nerves. If the whole team was back at their hotel, Sniper would have been his first choice. Probably. Maybe. It was hard to think, what with an erection pressing to his thighs. The Australian wasn't here right now, but Soldier was. Boy, was he ever.

"And if it does mean something, private?" Soldier was still eyeballing him, swallowing back the roughness of a dry throat. Engineer could feel the older man's hands at his waist, tentatively pressing into the muscles of his flanks.

"If it does, Sarge, I'd be much obliged to help you deal with it." As Engineer spoke, he watched Soldier's expression. His teammate looked intrigued, and continued to grasp him with shaky hands.

"I see. Well then, Engie, I, uh, I believe the best course of action would be to address the situation in a manner or rather, uh, in THE manner that you consider most strategically effective." Peering out from under his helmet, Soldier's eyes were anxious, filled with voracious anticipation. Apparently, this was what passed as a sexual proposition in the military man's book.

Engineer's mouth spread into a wide grin. He had fantasized about Soldier before, transforming shower-room glimpses of the man's body into something more lascivious, or even imagining what he might be like in the sack. Engineer didn't really know much about his teammate's sexual behaviour. Truth be told, none of their conversations had ever entered that murky territory. It wasn't that Soldier appeared to lack virility, but his sex drive came out in weirdly misdirected ways. For him, every battle was a carnal conquest. He charged in with both hands on his looming, phallic weapon, screaming furiously as he blasted other men apart with high-explosive ejaculations.

At the sight of heavily armed mercenaries competing to kill each other, it was hard not to see Freudian connotations in the men and their weapons. With his mercenary work for RED providing such an outlet for Soldier, it was little wonder he never talked with Engineer about old conquests or lost love. He spent every workday fucking people to death with the strongest metaphorical dick on the battlefield. As far as releasing mindless, pent-up libido was concerned, Soldier was covered.

This may have been the reason that, faced with a specific person a close friend, no less who was rousing his desires, Soldier seemed a little confounded. He was looking to Engineer for direction. (Call me crazy, but it kind of sounds like he's hoping for orders, or some kind of battle plan. I've never done anything quite like that before, but just thinking about it is giving me ideas...)

"First thing we've gotta do is block that door. Don't want anyone wanderin' into our safe house. Then... well, we'll undress a little, and see what happens next."

It only took a moment for the two men to shove a table in front of the door, and reinforce the barricade with Engineer's heavy toolbox. Next thing Engineer knew, he was biting into Soldier's collarbone, and undoing the larger man's belt. A second later his teammate joined in, and soon his overalls were unstrapped and falling down around his feet. Engineer craned his neck to press light kisses against Soldier's throat, and the older American started uttering growls and faint groans.

With only Engineer's flashlight to illuminate the entire room, everything was thrown into deep shadows, with a spotlight that fell across the far wall. Engineer could make out little more than a silhouette of his companion, but that was alright. His other senses meant more to him once his pants were off, anyhow. Glancing down, Engineer could see the faint whiteness of Soldier's briefs, unable to hide his stiff salute even in the dim light. Although tempted to just grab him and get right down to business, Engineer decided to take it slow. Out of caution, as much as the urge to exercise a hint of sadism. He still wasn't completely sure what inspired Soldier to take a sexual interest in him, and in this sort of encounter, but something in the man's words had made this much clear: Soldier had handed the reins over to Engineer and placed his trust in the mechanic's hands.

Engineer was going to make good use of that surrender. "Alright Sarge, now you just stand at attention there, y'hear? I'm in command as of now, and I've got a real specific set of protocols to follow, seein' as I'm offerin' my expertise in this here situation." As he spoke, Engineer kneeled on the floor. The tattered remains of Soldier's pants were looped around his ankles, but they didn't concern the man in charge. His interests fell somewhere between Soldier's legs.

Soldier's head was tilted downwards. When he noticed Engineer looking up at him, he quickly raised it to stare ahead. "What is required of me at this point in the operation?"

"Like ah said before, stand at attention, arms at yer sides. I'll take care of everythin'. For now, anyway." Engineer chuckled. He gently cupped Soldier's groin through the fabric of his briefs. A faint grunt was his only reaction as the Texan removed his underwear, then softly manipulated his rather vulnerable privates, rubbing the thin skin, running fingertips along his length. Engineer smirked, and elicited a trembling gasp from Soldier by drawing the edge of a thumbnail across his frenulum.

"There. How's that treatin' you, Sarge? Go on, tell me."

Soldier groaned. He was clenching his teeth and looking off at nothing in particular with slitted eyes, sweat beading on his exposed midriff and rolling down his belly, then vanishing into the thatch of hair that started below his navel. "Good God, Engie, you're a certifiable expert at th-"

Engineer reached around behind Soldier, then firmly slapped his broad, muscular buttocks. "Call me 'sir', boy! And answer mah question. Is that, or is that not, helpin' to relieve you of your condition?"

The larger man twitched in surprise, and for a moment he began lifting one of his hands, then stopped as Engineer gave him another smack. Clearly confounded by what he was feeling, he panted and tried to keep his eyes ahead of him. Nerve impulses firing off at each caress and slap, sending out a current of ravenous desire that electrified his throbbing loins. No doubt seeing stars, Soldier swallowed hard, then roughly barked, "I believe the exercise is helping, sir! Requesting permission to take part in the manual portion of this..."

"Request denied. When I want you down here, I'll damn well say so," Engineer drawled. While Engineer's hand introduced Soldier to sensitive spots he never knew he had, the Texan's lips were kissing trails over his exposed body.

Soldier rode out this exquisite torture, his lewd muttering punctuated with gasps and growls of frustration. Those sounds left no doubt in Engineer's mind that Soldier was enjoying his ministrations, but he couldn't leave his teammate hanging forever. Arousing as it was for him to torment Soldier, he didn't want the older man to stop enjoying this game. Trying not to let himself get carried away with thoughts of future liaisons and restraints, Engineer murmured, "Alright, Sarge, yer permitted ta get in on the action." Then he craned his neck, and began doing indecent things with his mouth.

This coaxed a deep groan from Soldier, who was suddenly so weak in the knees that he could barely stand. He leaned over and gripped Engineer's shoulders for support, then shivered, drawing in shaky breaths between clenched teeth. When Soldier finally regained his powers of articulation, his voice was hoarse and breathy. "God-damn, Engie, I never figured you for a cock-sucker. Just full of surprises, huh?"

A twinge of uncertainty prickled over the back of Engineer's neck, but he knew they'd both gone too far to run away now. He pulled his lips off the bigger man, then grinned up at Soldier's face, trying to ignore the tent he'd pitched in his underwear. "You gave me free reign over your body, mister. I saw the look on your face- you want this real bad."

Soldier gazed back down at Engineer, his torrid expression barely visible in the poor light. He gasped for breath and did nothing to deny the Texan's words. "I've always liked you, always felt good just being around you. Maybe it's..." He stopped talking and moaned as Engineer gently squeezed him, reminding him of who was in charge. "Ahh! I don't know what the hell's gotten into me, Engie, but I think I like it. Wh- what are your next orders?"

"Mmm, how's about you join me down here, where we can get comfy together? Teasin's fun, but I also like to get a little attention, y'know? Takes two to tango."

Soldier kicked away his tattered clothes and sat on the floor, legs spread apart with his kneeling teammate between them. When Engineer fumbled to finish undressing, Soldier tugged the Texan's underwear down, and gave a lustful snarl as instinct took over. He reached under his partner and took a round, solid buttock in each hand, then began kneading the firm flesh, exploring this new territory with lecherous excitement. "Your ass is nothing like a woman's, private... is that why you do this kind of thing? 'Cause you want someone harder? Someone who's all rugged and sweaty?"

Engineer trembled as Soldier fondled him, and curiously teased his most sensitive areas. "Y'could say that," he panted. "Women are they feel alright, yeah, but the smell of perfume just don't turn me on like a working man's smell does. First time I met another fella who felt the same way was back when I was workin' on the oil rigs down home..."

While he spoke, Engineer wound his right arm around the back of Soldier's neck for support, then groped blindly between their bodies until he got hold of his partner. He arched his back and gave a soft yelp as Soldier got a little too curious with his body. The other man was enthusiastic, but clearly inexperienced, and they were both getting too close to stop now and hunt down some lube. Feeling desperate for release and a diversion, Engineer broke through the last barrier he had erected between his conscience and his desires. He pulled himself closer to Soldier until their noses were almost touching, then leaned in for a forceful kiss.

The older American's eyes widened in shock as Engineer's lips met his, stoking the fires that smoldered in each of them. After a moment of this new sensation, he gave a muffled groan and sagged against his friend, his eyes rolling up behind fluttering eyelids. When Engineer broke the kiss and released him for a second, all Soldier could do was take a few deep breaths and squirm closer to the Texan. An odd sound caught his attention, and he glanced over with dizzy curiosity. "Why'd you spit in your hand there, Engie?"

Engineer's blue eyes had taken on an impish appearance in the dim light. They almost seemed to glow from within with lust, and desperate, heart-twisting affection. "C'mon Sarge, I think it's time to light this one off. Here, gimme your hand... There, that's it." He guided their hands down below their sweat-slicked bellies, easing his hips forwards until he felt his piece brush against Soldier's. Slick from saliva, Engineer's fingers slipped over the two hard lengths of flesh, fondled them, rubbed them together firmly. This seemed to clarify his intentions to the older man, who shivered and moved his large hand to join Engineer's.

Soldier seemed desperate to say something, but unable to find the right words. He had to make do with incoherent mumbling, before giving up and expressing himself with another kiss. He was rewarded with a throaty sigh, and an electrifying flick of his lover's tongue. Too excited to wait any longer, Soldier hooked his legs around Engineer's waist. They fell into each other, both men grinding together in mutual gratification. If didn't feel like a race, but rather a simple act of deep affection. Like a kiss, but with more friction and bodily fluids. In the gloom of their sanctuary from the war outside, Engineer finally found a reprieve from his troubled heart, and Soldier found something more satisfying than mindless destruction.


	11. Fair Weather Enemies

( _Author's note: Although this is a fanfic involving what are essentially cartoon characters in a crazy cartoony version of the world, I always end up poking around on sites like Wikipedia, tediously fact-checking and researching things like can-openers of the 1960's. I don't consider my writing here to be super serious realism, but I like to try and keep it semi-realistic. I had gone back to try and learn more about stun guns, and learned that unconsciousness typically only lasts a few moments, which complicated things insofar as "the bad-guys keeping Sniper knocked out". So, the aftermath of that scene is elaborated on here._

_Anesthesia in general is a lot more tricky than the movies make it out to be, and tranquilizer darts will use heavy sedatives that render the subject semi-conscious but too __sluggish to fight back. This eliminates a lot of the complications involved in general anesthesia, and is much less dangerous for the subject. From my own experience _(_so long, wisdom teeth_)_, the sedated party can retain some indistinct memories of what happened to them._)

* * *

Hours before Engineer and Soldier had found cover for the evening, the late afternoon's heat still hung over the island like a pall. A few places offered reprieve from the tropical atmosphere, but these were limited to caves and underground chambers. One such locale was the manor's cellar. In a dusty, locked room, Scout was coming back to his senses.

The heavy sedation he was under had left him nearly insensible from the moment he was shot until the present. Vague memories of what had happened in the meantime still lingered. As he surfaced amidst bone-gnawing pain, Scout tried to make sense of them. (I think someone back there kicked the shit out of me... I know I heard Sniper yelling at some people. Christ, everything hurts.)

He squinted, and discovered to his relief that he was in a dark place. Opening his eyes a little more, the first thing Scout could see was dirty shoes and a pair of ankles duct-taped together, with similarly dirty pant-legs attached. It was the BLU Spy, sitting on the floor beside him. Scout swallowed, grimacing at the hint of blood he could taste, then hissed, "Hey asshole! You awake over there?"

"No, I died wit' my goddamn eyes open," he grunted, sounding rather displeased. Looking up, Scout noticed the masked man's arms were folded behind his back, no doubt bound with duct-tape as well. Spy glanced away morosely, adding, "I guess you two dumbfucks couldn't do any better den me, eh?"

It was about this time that Scout realized he was also restrained, which went a little ways to explaining his own discomfort. This sent a wave of alarm through him, and he blurted, "What the hell happened? Where's Sniper?"

Spy rolled his eyes. "We got captured. Da sniper's on da floor behind you. Don't know when he'll come around. Dey must have got him after you."

"I- I remember seein' him tied up, back in that room with the crazy secret door. Some of those guys were tryin' to take him away, but he was hissing and spitting like a fuckin' wildcat. They musta shot him up with somethin' like they did to us." Scout groaned in pain. His whole body felt like a bad headache. He squirmed listlessly in his bonds, then asked, "Hey, uh... do I got any bruises on me?"

"You look like you got worked over in a back alley, kid."

Spy seemed distant and agitated as he spoke. Scout wondered if he was feeling strung-out with no cigarette in his mouth, or if he was just being an asshole. In the absence of anything better to do, the boy studied him for a while. Maybe it was the effects of being stranded in the jungle, but he looked like a wearier, cheaper version of the Spy on Scout's team. In a filthy costume and a day and a half's worth of stubble, he was approaching a sort of hobo aesthetic. (Or maybe one of those sad clowns who's dressed up like a hobo. He's got to be at least forty, with all those lines on his face. Geez, where the hell did they get this fucking guy? Is he even French? Maybe they've got weird accents all over the country, like we do. France is as big as a couple states, right?) Scout considered asking for a moment, then decided not to. That Spy was a jerk, anyway.

Scout tried pulling himself into a sitting posture, but the pain of his injuries dissuaded him. "They just had ta put fuckin' duck tape over my wrist, didn't they? This bites! My hand had better not rot off. You think it's gonna get infected? I mean, the jungle's full of fuckin' germs and shit, right? At least I got a bunch of shots after that biting incident, or I'd probably be dead by now. What the hell are they gonna do to us, anyway? If they kill us, we'll just wind up back in Teufort. What if they torture us? They wouldn't torture us, would they? I mean, we don't know shit about this fuckin' place! I never even heard of it before we got sent here! Oh my God, what if they're like, fuckin' psychos or something? What if they just torture us for kicks? Does that shit ever happen outside of movies or, like, evil prison camps? They said I wouldn't ever get tortured when I took this job, I'm abso-fuckin'-lutely positive I read it in my contract or-"

With an angry snarl, Spy suddenly thrashed around in an attempt to kick Scout in the mouth. He yelped and managed to twist away, leaving the older man's shoes with nothing to strike. "Goddammit, why da fuck didn't someone knock your Goddamn teeth out when dey were beating on you?" Spy snapped.

"Geez, who took a shit on your pillow?" Scout grumbled, cringing.

The only answer he got was a hostile glare. A minute or so later, Spy suddenly gave him a weird look. "Wait, what biting incident?"

Never shying away from an opportunity to talk, Scout started to explain. "There was this old guy and his dog who stumbled into the back lot of our base at the gravel pit, see? He was like a vagrant, or a hippie or somethin'. So Soldier and Pyro went out to try chasin' them off, and they all got arguin', and then the dog got barkin' at Pyro, but he's kinda freaked out by dogs. So he tried kicking the dog away, and-"

"Den what, it bit him?"

Scout shook his head. "Nah, the old hippie did. Right through his suit. Anyhow, Pyro started actin' really weird after that. The Doc' said maybe the hippie had rabies, but Demoman thought he was some kinda fuckin' hippie-vampire, or maybe a hippie-zombie? So one night we're all watchin' television, and Pyro came in and he grabbed Soldier and started-"

A knock at the door interrupted Scout's story. He assumed it was a door, anyhow. From where he was lying, he couldn't actually see that side of the room. The muffled voice of someone on the other side could be heard. "I hear you talking in zhere, my little prisoners... Are you all vell? None of you has died, yes? I vould be quite upset if zhat happened! Zhere is so much I vant to do vith you all." It was the renegade team's doctor, who had been referred to as Ruprecht.

"Maudite, foutre le camp!" Spy snapped, glowering over Scout's head. "I don't want any of you bastards here unless you've brought some fucking cigarettes!"

Ruprecht gave a sadistic, hooting laugh. "Ve haff none to spare, regrettably! Some greedy mice rifled through our ration supply and stole a lot of zhem. Ze other men are very displeased. I think it is a filthy habit, to be honest. Terrible for ze lungs. Just one more thing I must tolerate in zhis line of vork."

"Let us go, you fuckin' asshole! This shit ain't kosher, you hear me?" With a target for his anger, Scout felt a little less abandoned. He rolled over onto his other side and glared up at the door, which was antique, but very sturdy looking. Below the doorknob was a keyhole, and he was pretty certain that their captors must have locked it, just in case the duct tape wasn't enough. "I swear to God, I'm gonna bust your kneecaps when I get outta here! You are fuckin' dead!"

"Ah, I am glad to hear you are still lively, even after zhat other young man vented his frustrations on you. Don't hurt yourself trying to break out, boy. You are ze most important captive in zhere! I haff already planned your session vith me. You are going to be quite useful to my team."

"So come and get me already!" Scout gritted his teeth, then contemplated how well he might be able to fight with his hands behind his back and his ankles tied. (I could still kick the bastard, or headbutt him if he starts trying to pick me up. Hope he doesn't get a buddy to help him take me away.) He tried not to think about what the enemy doctor's plans might be. That made it easier for him to keep his cool.

"Unfortunately, I am required to vait for ze man in charge to return. He is quite insistent ve keep any intruders alive, at least long enough for him to question zhem. After zhat, of course... you will be mine."

As he heard footsteps from outside the door, growing quieter as the moments passed, Scout bristled. "Motherfucker... Ugh, we've gotta get out of here. You have any secret spy crap left on you, frenchie?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be advertising da fact," Spy muttered in a very low voice, and jabbed Scout's back with one of his shoes. "Always assume someone's eavesdropping on you, stupid. Just because you don't see any bugs or cameras in da room, doesn't mean dey don't have some other way to make sure we aren't up to anyt'ing."

"Asshole." Scout had gotten bored of looking at the door, and shifted his position a little so he could watch Sniper instead. The unconscious Australian was now missing his glasses as well as his hat, and had a brand-new shiner to boot. His right eye was swollen, scratched and reddish, surrounded by a dark bruise. That and his excess beard scruff made him look even more like a sad clown/hobo than BLU Spy, and Scout felt an uncomfortable pang of regret in his gut, as he thought about what happened back in the conservatory. (I should have been there for you, man. Should've been more careful. Maybe if I hadn't got nailed, we could have got away. What the hell's going to happen to us, now?)

Feeling cold, hungry, and rightfully sore from the fresh crop of bruises Andy had given him, Scout sulked on the floor and wondered how things were going for the rest of his team. It had to be better than rotting in this godforsaken pit, with his teammate drugged and unresponsive, and his fair-weather enemy trying to kick his teeth in. (The least those assholes could have done was keep this cellar stocked with moonshine.)

* * *

Out on the island's main road, the tropical air was thick with the stench of death. Although the slain mercenaries began vanishing from where they had fallen, spirited off to distant respawn chambers by the miracles of science, there were scars on the land that would take longer to heal. The RED team's Soldier and Engineer were lying amidst the settling rubble, but they could have been en route to Teufort for all Demoman knew.

Someone was going to pay for all this.

For Tavish DeGroot, it was bad enough being stranded in this filthy, treacherous jungle, pitted against a man that used to be his best friend- the BLU soldier called Jane Doe. Things were worse now that he was injured and faced with a second soldier, a near-unstoppable maniac who killed RED and BLU fighters indiscriminately. With no teammates left who could help him, Tavish had no choice but to side with Jane against the maverick Soldier, knowing his former buddy could turn on him at any moment.

Demoman took a vengeful pot-shot at his enemy: the renegade Soldier with Colonel's wings. His first attack was imprecise, but pain, rage and his missing eye had never kept him from lobbing around high explosives before.

Already on his feet after that dive in the mud, the maverick Soldier reacted immediately. He aimed his weapon at the ground. Demoman's grenade went off at the same moment his Black Box did, launching him off the road and clear over the two other combatants. Mud and blood rained down on them. They turned quickly, both acting with their reflexes on a hair-trigger. Somewhere in the jungle beyond the pathway, their foe crashed down among trees and foliage.

Jane was incensed. "Running away? THAT is not how a REAL Soldier fights, you chicken-shit BASTARD! Come back here and DIE like a MAN!"

From the darkness of the forest came a roar more rattling than one ever uttered by any lion. "You call yourself a Soldier, you wet-behind-the-ears private? I'll teach you to fight, son, but you probably won't live long enough to learn much. Lesson number ONE! Can you see me right now, private? Because I can sure as hell see you and your buddy! BOTH OF YOU ARE SITTING DUCKS OUT THERE!"

Tavish was less familiar with the sounds a rocket launcher made during regular handling, but when the Black Box's rattle and click came through the trees, he was already throwing himself to the ground. Jane took a moment longer to realize they were in trouble, but when he did, he dove into the mud with his friend.

Instead of deadly rockets, a rough-sounding cackle was the only thing that came their way. The rogue soldier spoke again. "Lesson number TWO, BOYS! Do you know how many rounds you've got left? I do, and I wouldn't waste them. Neither of you has the faintest fucking idea where you might restock, but it's NOT going to be at a DISPENSER!" He laughed again, and Demoman seethed quietly; he was pretty certain the guy was gloating over what had become of the teams' engineers.

"THAT'S IT! I'm going in there, and I'M going to tear YOU a new ASSHOLE!" BLU Soldier's lip curled back in a furious sneer. He slung the launcher over his shoulder, then began scrabbling into the undergrowth. His one good eye widening in alarm, Demoman hurried after him.

"Wait! Fer the love of God, would you bloody think?" he hissed, grabbing at Jane's pant-leg.

The BLU mercenary glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes bulging with rage. "What the hell do you want me to wait for, an air-strike? I'm going to go kill that son of a bitch!"

Their argument was cut short as a metal pick whipped from behind a bush, glancing off Jane's helmet with a sharp "clang!" Both men flinched in alarm. Before Jane could swing his shovel at the attacker, he had disappeared again in the thick foliage. Clearly rattled, BLU Soldier scooted back alongside Demoman, and shakily wiped away a trickle of fresh blood from his scalp.

"Lesson number THREE! Hiding and lying in ambush are two VERY different THINGS! I know this territory, maggots, and the ONLY reason you are still ALIVE is because I've been merciful! So let's make this interesting." There was a low, hissing cackle that seemed to circle the two men from all directions. "Run or hide, boys, it won't make a difference. You can try to hunt me down, or I'll find where your cowardly asses have fled to, and I WILL MAKE YOU DEAD!"

Tavish and Jane glanced at each other and listened as the faint sounds of movement faded amidst the trees. When the BLU Soldier spoke, his voice was low and gravelly. "Cowardly son of a bitch... there's no difference between hiding and lying in ambush. OR between fleeing and making a tactical retreat. REAL men go headlong into danger!"

Demoman knit his brow in irritation, tentatively rising to a crouch and fishing a kerchief out from one of his satchels. There was no doubt in the Scotsman's mind that their enemy intended to make good on his threat. At the same time, he didn't know what sort booby-traps might be in the rainforest. Almost all of his experience was limited to explosive traps, in urban or otherwise man-made settings.

He groaned dismally as he realized the only antiseptic agent he had was that volatile rum. His heart was heavy with regret as he pulled the bottle out of his pack and slopped some onto the cloth, then tried to clean the wounds on his face. It did nothing for the pain of his torn cartilage, lacerations and embedded shrapnel, but Demoman felt a little better knowing he wouldn't get blood poisoning as well.

As he gingerly rubbed encrustations of dried blood off of his shredded ear, he found his mind wandering to the task ahead. "Ah wonder how well Sniper made out in this stinkin' banana farm... I know that him an' Spy were still here this mornin'. Maybe those bastards dinnae bother with so many traps in the jungle. It'd be a waste tryin' tae rig so many acres of rainforest, aye?"

Blinking, Jane lifted his helmet a little and glanced at his companion. "Wait, bastards? As in, more than one of them?" The blue-clad Soldier grumbled, pulling himself to his feet and looking around.

"Aye, there's more'n one of them. Could be a whole team, minus their Heavy Weapons Guy. We killed him soon as we landed, but the Doc' said there was a halt-pint wi' him who got away." He tossed the bloody scrap of cloth away, and reached for his canteen. After taking a long drink of his stale-tasting grog, he began studying his surroundings in the desperate hope that it might make him better informed in the search for traps. Inconsistencies in the terrain would be a sign of enemy activity, provided he could spot them.

"Maybe it was the Colonel's whole team that stayed here, not just him. That would make sense. They did follow him around like they were tied to his ass. I've never fought any other bunch of REDs who actually seemed to have a leader..."

As they began their cautious trek into the jungle, Demoman decided it was time to see if he could get some answers. "When was it that you were on this island, exactly? And why the hell is this madman's team still here? ...would've been nice o' them tae let me own cohort know we'd be fightin' other REDs."

Jane frowned, using his shovel to prod suspiciously at a tree stump. It was a relief to the Scotsman that his companion was also wary, even if it did nothing to hasten their progress. Tavish imagined himself and Jane as two scared little kids in the deep, dark woods; it was a dishearteningly accurate picture.

Giving up on the stump, the American moved on. After a few minutes of quiet slinking through the underbrush, he suddenly said, "Two years ago."

"What?"

"Two years ago," Jane repeated, flashing Tavish an annoyed look. "That's when my team was stationed on this island. I don't know why they sent us here, and I don't care. I'm paid to fight for the BLU company, and that's what my team did! The RED cohort we were up against was a weird bunch. That Soldier they called him "The Colonel". I don't know if he ever fought in the army, but he did wear that badge. They all took orders from him, anyhow."

Tavish froze as he spotted what appeared to be a tripwire, but on closer inspection was just a liana. He sighed. "Why'd ye leave? Did the REDs here drive your people off?"

"Are you trying to provoke me, you one-eyed, smart-mouthed..." The BLU mercenary bristled, but seemed to lose his train of thought as he noticed the lack of malice in Tavish's countenance. "...no. We didn't lose the island, the whole thing was called off. Technical difficulties. We packed up everything from our base here and shipped it back to the states. Even the kitchen sink! They told us the REDs had done the same. So a couple weeks ago, when we caught word that your company was planning to come back here, we hustled our butts down south as fast as- "

The Scotsman cut in. "So ye dinnae have any idea why they'd be here, or why they'd be killin' other REDs along wi' your lot?" Tavish tugged his cap off, more to help himself cool off than anything else. He found himself scratching his head as he tried to make sense of it all. "There's nothin' of any real value here, is there? No plants wi' miraculous powers? Ancient ruins? Crashed U.F.O.s? That sorta thing? ...Ye think they'd be wantin' tae develop it for rich tourists?"

Jane looked mystified by these suggestions. "I sure as hell didn't see any crap like that when I was here! We stuck to the plantation complex most of the time, though... There, and the big patch of land out behind our base. Me and the boys razed it so we'd have somewhere safe to stretch our legs and land supply choppers. There was a stretch of beachfront at the far end, but it was no good. The whole beach was rotten with these poison death-apple trees. Couldn't even burn the Goddamned things. The smoke'd kill you too. Not like it was the biggest problem, but..."

"What'd these trees look like?" Tavish asked, glancing uneasily around at the nearby foliage.

Frowning, the other man waved his shovel dismissively. "They were only out on the sand-dunes. I didn't see any inland. You'd know them if you see them, though- they drop little green apples everywhere. Nothing grows near 'em. If any part of the damn things so much as touches you, you get a horrible rash- almost a burn, really." Jane chuckled and rubbed his chin, then added, "Some of the boys found that out the hard way. Thought they'd run out for some midnight skinny-dipping. Glad I'm not Medic, he had to deal with those numbskulls and their blistered privates."

As the afternoon sun began its slow descent, Demoman was too deep in contemplation to realize evening was fast approaching. He frowned as he thought long and hard about his companion. Working with his former best friend again? Win or lose, one of them was going to get fucked. After deep contemplation, he sighed and withdrew the shotgun Jane's shotgun from his pack. "...here, mate. Ye might need this."

The BLU mercenary looked confounded as he took the weapon back. It seemed that in all the commotion, he'd forgotten about his shotgun entirely. "Oh! That's mine, isn't it? ...uh, thanks. You know, for not losing it or anything." After studying the gun as though he wasn't sure of its purpose, Jane seemed to decide it gave him better odds than his shovel did, and stuffed the tool away before hurrying to keep up with his companion.

* * *

As their hunt for the renegade took them deeper in the rainforest, the two mercenaries looked less and less like they worked for different companies. A dozen different kinds of swamp scum, grime, and old-fashioned mud were soiling their clothes, changing their team's colors to a more uniform greenish-brown. Demoman had no time to contemplate the state of his uniform, nor what it meant for his affiliation to his team. He and his companion were busy trying to stay alive.

Blazing a trail through thick foliage meant they were less likely to run into traps, but it also put them at the mercy of the untamed wilderness. Slippery mud and tangled vines wound together to create a soupy, nearly impassable mess. Both men had been tripped up numerous times, and it was more luck than skill that had spared them from long falls into ravines and natural trenches that were carved by the rain.

When they finally staggered out onto a path, Demoman wasn't sure if he should be glad or suspicious. He had no way of knowing how close they were to the place where, mere days ago, another demoman had met his final end. Even so, the sense of foreboding that had kept him awake in Teufort had returned, in full force.

"You think he's somewhere around here?" Jane grumbled, pausing to catch his breath and chug down some water from a canteen. He hadn't started out with any camouflage to speak of, but their trek had left him dirty all over, including his face. In the process of blindly slapping insects and rubbing scratches, he'd given himself a war-paint job that was not unlike the Colonel's.

Tavish sighed, reaching for his flask of grog. "It'd be good tae know sooner than later. Trackin' people in the bleedin' jungle just isn't a thing I've ever had tae do before." He glanced around idly, and frowned as he saw something familiar to him. Alongside the path, part of the foliage had been blasted away. Demoman narrowed his eye and leaned over a bit, examining the damage closer.

"What is it? Y'see something?" Jane sounded like he was feeling on edge, which was understandable. He moved closer to take a look as well, lifting his helmet so the breeze would cool his cranium a little.

"Bugger me, someone was usin' sticky-bombs out here. Hmm over that way too, I'd wager." Demoman felt oddly confident he wouldn't trigger any intact stickies, and his conviction grew as he studied the path of destruction. "If Ah'm right- and when dealin' with the art of explosive ordnance, Ah'm always right- someone blundered into these traps about two, maybe three days ago."

Jane scratched his head. "How the hell can you be sure about that?" This elicited a faint smirk from Tavish. Like all the soldiers he knew, Jane just didn't have a demoman's patience or attention to detail when it came to explosions.

"The fragments scattered about, for a start. I don't think it were the lads from my team who wore these, we woulda heard from them if they'd got themselves blown up at the start of their mission. There's no' any BLU fighters MIA out here, is there?" He was pretty sure he'd seen everyone on Jane's team during their battle on the road. At the very least, he'd seen them all blasted to smithereens. It was all he could think of, though. (It's that, or the bastards here have been setting off their own traps by accident...)

Jane shook his head. "Spy's been out in the field since yesterday morning. He's the only one who survived our first trip out, we haven't heard from him since. "

"Bah, I can't see a Spy livin' through so many explosions. There must be some other explanation." Tavish looked around, cautiously moving down the path. It intrigued him to see a fellow demoman's handiwork, even though any other clansman on the island was likely to be an enemy. When he spotted the place where rocket fire was used to neutralize the last of the sticky bombs, it left him more uneasy than he already had been. Reeling with deja vu, he took a drink of watered-down rum to steady himself, then rubbed his head and tried to stay focused.

(I don't know what this all means, but it doesn't change anything right now. There's still a lunatic with a rocket-launcher after us.) The wind picked up as Demoman turned his eye to the jungle, confounding his senses with rustling leaves and foliage. Anything could be a sign of the rogue Soldier, and he felt dreadfully sure the man was near them at that very moment, just waiting for the chance to ambush his prey. Demoman hefted his grenade launcher into his arms, glaring at the deceitful undergrowth.

Dense as he could be at times, Jane seemed to realize the danger as well, and moved up until he was standing back-to-back with the Scotsman. Even he knew there wasn't enough open space to be firing off rockets, and he had settled on his shotgun for whatever was coming. Not taking his eyes off the forest, he rumbled, "Whaddya think, Tavish? Is this a good day to die?"

"Bah, fightin' this war? Every day's a good day tae die!" Even with the danger they were in, Demoman felt himself smile. Even after everything that had happened between him and Jane, they still possessed a bond, even if it was only the sort that came out when faced with a terrible common enemy.

Demoman would have thought about this further, but his senses had served him well. Somewhere nearby, dead leaves crackled beneath heavy boots. "Ah can hear the bastard! Where is he?" he hissed.

"Somewhere behind me. Right side of the path." Jane's voice was barely audible, just a whisper. Neither man thought to realize that Jane's right would be Tavish's left. Being blind, not to mention half-deaf from the earlier battle, he was completely vulnerable on that side.

* * *

As the Colonel watched quietly from the undergrowth to Demoman's left, he pondered how he could walk right up to the Scotsman and yell "Boo!", before he would even be noticed. He was exercising more care than that, though. The two other mercenaries were tied to the respawn system, after all. He wasn't. Still injured from the skirmish he'd seen out on the road, the renegade knew he'd have to be smart and avoid any more hits. If he was injured any further, he'd have to abandon his hunt and run for the safety of the base and Ruprecht's infirmary.

"Babes in the woods," he said silently, from his place amongst the wind-blown bushes. When he had spied the RED group from his lookout up on the headland, the only one who looked the least bit sharp to him was their demoman. The Colonel strongly suspected that none of the men there had ever fought in such unforgiving terrain, but that demoman had enough sense to watch his surroundings. He was the only one who came close to spotting him.

And now the same demoman was standing not ten feet away, grenade launcher in hand, leaving his blind-side tragically exposed. The Colonel chuckled, but went unheard below the wind and fluttering leaves. "Good, son. Just not good enough..."

The maverick rose up from his hiding place, silent as a cat. The instant he broke cover, he charged his unwitting target. Armed with his Equalizer, he knew this would have to be a hit-and-run. Kill the RED, then make himself scarce before the other guy could draw blood. He was sure the BLU mercenary wouldn't last very long, once he was his own. The Colonel made a mental note to finish off the younger Soldier mercifully. Despite all this underhanded sneaking and waiting, he was still a man of honour. The least he could was give these nincompoops a quick death.

Maybe next time, the two companies would send different fighters more experienced fighters to kill him. Maybe next time, he'd finally be able to end all this.


	12. Ruthless Action

( _Author's note: A Faraday cage is a common means of shielding devices or rooms from electrical energy. This includes radio signals, lightning strikes, and electromagnetic radiation- the grid in the door of your friendly microwave oven is a good example, as a visible part of the Faraday cage that keeps it from cooking you along with your instant noodles. If things like teleportation and respawning in Team Fortress 2 rely on electrical signals being transmitted, it's possible that a Faraday cage or electromagnetic shielding could interfere with their operation._)

* * *

As the rogue Soldier charged, Demoman continued studying the opposite side of the path, still absentminded of the mistake he had made. He was seconds away from having his brain carved out by a pick-wielding lunatic. It was then that he heard Jane move suddenly behind him.

His friend shouted, "ABOUT FACE!"

Tavish flinched in surprise and started to turn, when he was struck by the renegade soldier's Equalizer. A blow that was meant for his cervical vertebrae had landed on his shoulder instead, ripping through flesh and muscle, and tearing the insignia from his uniform. He scrambled back, letting loose an agonized yowl. The enemy wasn't about to give him any quarter, but before he suffered another strike of that pickaxe, his comrade gave a bloodcurdling scream and tackled the Colonel.

Jane managed to shove their enemy onto his back, and at once, the two soldiers were on the ground and entwined in combat. The renegade started hacking at Jane one-handed with an unnecessarily sharp chunk of metal. Jane struggled to aim his shotgun at his attacker, just long enough to use it to good effect. The Colonel was not keen on taking a slug to the belly, though; his free hand gripped the gun's business end in an effort to keep it pointed away from him. Several shots went off in quick succession, spraying blood over the nearby bushes. It was unclear if any of them had done significant damage.

Still recovering from the shock of being ambushed, Demoman struggled to level his weapon with a wounded arm. He cursed his luck, realizing that he couldn't use it anyways not without blasting his old friend into hundreds of bloody chunks, at any rate. "Fuck! Jes' kill the bastard, already!" Tavish bawled, still fumbling with his grenade launcher.

From amidst the shouting and cursing of the two brawling soldiers, Jane's voice could be heard clearly. "FIRE, GOD-DAMN YOU! I've got him pinned, now FINISH HIM OFF!" Beneath the rim of his helmet, Demoman caught a glimpse of the crazed expression on his face.

Since their friendship had gone violently awry, inflicting full-body explosions on one another was commonplace for Tavish and Jane. Back on the road, he had only hesitated to bombard the BLU Soldier out of a sense of honour. It didn't seem right to deliver a killing blow to your rival, when he didn't even know you were gunning for him. Now, however, it felt a lot harder. The renegade was badly injured, of course. He knew that. But his companion would still take the brunt of the attack. Respawn would eventually piece the blue-clad soldier back together, but even knowing that was cold comfort for Demoman.

(I must be daft. I love turning men into a spray of hair, teeth and eyeballs. This shouldn't be any bloody different!) Struggling to ignore the knot in his throat and the throbbing of his fresh wound, he stood back and aimed shakily at the wrestling soldiers. "You sure about this, mate?" he yelled, unable to hide the trembling in his voice.

"Why the HELL would I be lying? JUST FUCKING DO IT!" Down on the ground, Jane's head and torso was a bloody mess of puncture wounds. Despite his own injuries, the Colonel seemed only stronger for them, and he was making it impossible to get in a good shot. It was all the BLU mercenary could do to hold his shotgun crosswise, and try blocking the Equalizer's vicious swings.

Tavish did it. Immediately after pulling the trigger, he cringed and turned away, pretending that he was just shielding his face from the blast. It was easier than admitting the truth to himself. He didn't want to watch Jane get blown to pieces. Not this time. As the ringing in his ears died down, he hung his head and grimaced, choking down the lump in his throat. "No' like that," he muttered, his good eye squeezed shut. "No' like that, mate..."

Deep down, he knew he had to press onwards. Demoman couldn't bear the thought of seeing the mess he'd made of his old friend. It occurred to him that if he waited a minute or two, he wouldn't have to. The respawn system would perform its miraculous duty, transubstantiating Jane's crude human remains into pure and unsullied energy and spiriting them away. The nearest BLU base's respawn chamber was far from this filthy, stinking jungle- but closer than heaven.

The jungle seemed to respect Demoman's emotional state. As he waited out a moment of silence, so did the wind still and the expanse of foliage with it. It was in the lull that a new noise was suddenly heard, one that left the Scotsman confused. He frowned, pressing a thumb against his eyelid and listening in confusion. Still that sound.

When he was a boy, Tavish had once seen a caravan of Gypsies passing on the road. A tired old cob was pulling one of the overburdened trailers. As it struggled up the muddy slope, its breath came in starts and fits. What he was hearing now reminded him of that wheezing horse.

Hoping that respawn had done its job by now, Tavish uncovered his eye and felt every hair on his body stand up. No less than a few feet away from him, the Colonel was standing upright, murder blazing in his eyes. He had the appearance of a monster, more gore than man. But he was somehow still moving, breathing, clinging to life and that damn Equalizer. Whether by technology or sheer bloody-mindedness, he had survived the blast.

(Human shield,) Demoman thought abstractly. If the madman had wrestled Jane down at the right moment, the brunt of the explosion would have been absorbed by the unfortunate BLU's body. Now was not the time to look back with sadness, though, or even berate himself for that oversight. Now was the time to finish what he had started.

Still brandishing his grenade launcher, he said, "There's a good chance Ah'd survive a grenade at this range, ya ken? Let's do it."

The Colonel stopped in his tracks at this statement. Behind his mask of lacerations, green paint and blood, his eyes were wide, white circles. Demoman aimed with a sort of lazy menace, casual in the seriousness of his intentions. Before he could pull the trigger, something nearly made him freeze up in terror.

Rolling those gleaming, bloodshot eyes towards Tavish, the renegade gave a horrible battle-scream, and lunged at him, pickaxe raised. Demoman was struck by the sensation of foul maggots, all squirming their way up his body. His face twisted into a grimace of horror; the words "Fear dubh!" flashed in his mind. Then he fired his weapon.

The shot went foul, flying over its mark, but it accomplished the least Demoman could have wanted it to: overcome by his fear of death, the Colonel turned and fled into the jungle with surprising speed.

Long after his enemy had escaped, Demoman stood staring at nothing. When his shaky knees gave out, he let himself flop down onto the path and took out his canteen for a pick-me-up. He needed it now more than ever. Soon, he could shed a tear for Jane, pull himself together and get up out of the mud. Soon, he could continue on to the plantation, on the path travelled before by two of his teammates and a doomed fellow clansman. Soon, he could plan his own entry to the compound, where his own missing teammates most certainly would be found.

But at that very moment, Tavish DeGroot's mind was still consumed by the horror he had felt. Even if it were untrue, he had- for one awful moment- been fearfully certain that his enemy was no more a human than he was an Englishman.

* * *

Not long after the renegade Medic's visit to the wine-cellar, Sniper began to return from the foggy depths of sedation. He did little to make it immediately obvious, in part because he was feeling rotten, and in part because he was just too tired to raise a fuss. Nobody would have guessed it to look at him, but he was furious. As he listened to his cell mates mutter and fidget nearby, he brooded over the events that brought him here.

Tex's stun-gun put him down fast, but the effects didn't last much longer than it took to tie him up. He should have played it safe, just closed his eyes and eavesdropped, while the rogue mercenaries dealt with him and his companions. But when more of the bastards showed up to carry them all away, and some black-haired boy began stomping poor Scout like a cockroach... (Christ. I shouldn't have pitched a fit, for all the good it did. Would have spared me the trouble of getting doped up twice in one day.)

Sniper opened his eyes, and discovered the right one was swollen shut. Squinting through his other eye, he realized he was somewhere poorly-lit. In fact, the only light was coming from a few decoratively-paned window wells. The room's former contents had pervaded every surface with a sour smell, and decades' worth of dust covered the cement floor, but the marksman was relieved that they weren't being held in some muddy pit. He squirmed, seeing how well he could move while tied. If there was a chance he might be able to reach the backs of his ankles and pick at their bonds, he'd take it. As he started to move, nausea surged up inside of him, and he lay still again.

Scout must have seen his movement, because he heard the youth say, "Yo, I think Sniper's comin' around. Hey Sniper- y'hear me, man?"

Another, more impassive voice said, "Good." It was the BLU Spy, who seemed to be fidgeting incessantly where he sat. If there was anything else on the secret agent's mind, he didn't share it. Not that Sniper minded. He wasn't really in the mood for a discussion right now.

"Urrgh. Y-yeah. Loud'n clear," Sniper hissed, breathing shallowly. His guts were roiling, a trickle of bile stinging in his throat, and the room's musty stench was doing nothing to ease his discomfort. Doing his best to think rationally, he whispered, "What'd I miss?"

Scout answered, which was no surprise. "Their medic came by and gloated for a while. He was like a mad scientist super villain or some shit. He said that after his boss comes by to check us out, he's gonna use us for horrible experiments."

As Scout spoke, Sniper studied the boy's injuries with growing anger. Although it was hard to tell if he had suffered any broken bones, his extensive bruising was easily apparent. A mess of blood had crusted across his upper lip- the aftermath of a newly broken nose, most likely. Sniper grimaced, thinking, (When I get free, Scout, I'm going to choke the life out of the bastard who did that to you.)

"You okay, man?" Scout must have noticed the look on his face.

"Just fabulous." Sniper clenched his teeth and paused for a moment, a sudden spasm in his belly threatening to force out what little it contained. When the feeling waned he continued, saying, "I reckon you know this already, mate, but you're looking pretty terrible. Saw some kid kicking the shit out of you, back in the conservatory."

"Ugh. I'm gonna kill that motherfucker." Scout tensed up with impotent anger and gave the Australian a resentful look. "Why the fuck didn't you stop him, you stupid shithead?"

"Same reason I'm lying 'ere right now. I was tied up. Tried shoutin' at them, for what that's worth." As the moments passed, his feeling of sickness seemed to be growing, curdling into a painful lump in his stomach. Dismally acknowledging this dilemma, Sniper mustered all his strength and inch-wormed to the other end of the wine cellar, as far from the others as he could get.

He could hear Scout talking some more, but the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears was making it hard to understand. The ground felt like it was rocking beneath him, just as he felt when he was drugged earlier, but without the euphoria. It was more like seasickness this time. (Oh God, whatever sedative they used is not agreeing with me. This is all that bloody Spy's fault. Bloody drugs playing hob with my system...) Unable to contain his nausea any longer, Sniper leaned his forehead against the wall. His stomach gave a sickening lurch, and up came his lunch of stolen hardtack.

"Awwww fuck, I didn't wanna see that," Scout griped. "Were you eatin' bugs to survive before I found you? Maybe you better stay over there, this room stinks bad enough as it is."

Sniper glowered and tried to make a retort, but he could only choke out epithets between bouts of noisy heaving. Spy, on the other hand, gave a hissing chuckle and said, "You t'ink dis is bad? Imagine if he'd eaten dose ham and lima bean rations you were bitching about."

Scout groaned, "Sick! Aw geeze, that or the beans and wieners. Those are even worse."

Sniper's eyes watered, and he retched loudly at the mention of canned ham. In the midst of tearing up his insides, he heard someone unlocking the door. Spy gasped and went stock-still while the boy snarled.

"You just try takin' me away, ya sick bastard. Fuckin' crazy-bastard doctor, hate doctors so m..." Scout's grumbling was interrupted by a sharp, barking yell from the outside the room.

"A word to any of you maggots lying around by the door: GET BACK! If I find anyone in arm's reach when I come in there, I WILL BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECKS!" Sniper knew it could only be the Soldier in charge of the renegade group, the one that BLU Spy had warned him about earlier. The other two prisoners backed off from the cellar door, while Sniper shuffled away from the mess and lay down on his side, facing the rest of the room as he struggled to catch his breath.

The door burst open at the urging of someone's boot-toe, and a stocky man in a RED Soldier's uniform appeared before the group. He looked like he'd just been through hell. The filth of the jungle was streaked liberally over himself and his clothing, further polluting the wine cellar with the stench of blood, mud, and gunpowder. Close behind him was the doctor named Ruprecht, who seemed to be in the middle of healing the Soldier's many wounds. Sniper wasn't sure the guy needed it. One look at his posture, his painted face and wild-eyed expression, and the marksman felt certain he could keep going as long as he weren't dismembered.

A small insignia of a gold eagle glinted from the rogue leader's breast pocket. He was studying the prisoners. Even Scout seemed cowed enough by his appearance to keep quiet. After a few long, uncomfortable moments, he spoke. "Well, now. You really are a sorry-looking bunch of fuckups, aren't you? And yet you managed to infiltrate MY compound, and kill one of MY men. If Tex hadn't overheard you in his shop, you might have escaped without a scratch." The Colonel closed his eyes and chuckled, as he began pacing back and forth before the prisoners.

Sniper's gaze was strangely attracted to the man's face. He stared at him raptly, feeling intense suspicion and a little fear. In a voice that was still rough and choked from vomiting, he asked, "What the hell do you want? You know it'd be impossible to hold any of us for ransom."

"Maybe not, maybe so. Tex was telling me about a little something called a 'Faraday cage' that'd keep the respawn system from picking you up." As the Colonel paused a moment to let this idea sink in, Spy gave an incredulous snort. Scout, on the other hand, went pale, and Sniper for his part felt a nagging sense of recognition.

(Engineer told me about that once,) the marksman thought, frowning. (He might not be bluffing.)

Their captor continued. "That's neither here nor there, though. We've been too busy rigging this place to try building one. Yet. In the meantime, Ruprecht wants to carve up the lot of you for practice, so it's not too likely you'll be sticking around much longer. But before I hand you over to him, you're my property." From his place on the floor, Sniper could see the man's teeth gleaming in the dim light. He tried not to cringe. The Colonel had the same eager appetite for selecting his first victim as a man picking his lobster for dinner.

The renegade Soldier's grin suddenly faded into a humourless, almost melancholic expression. Before anyone could really ask what was in store for them, he lunged for Spy and grabbed him around the throat, then lifted the Québécois one-handed and slammed him back against the wall. Spy went wide-eyed with alarm, then his face twisted into a rictus of agony as the burlier man started jack-hammering his exposed chest and underbelly.

"I don't expect you to shed any tears for a member of the BLU company," the Colonel said, without a pause from his rib-cracking assault. Spy choked and gurgled helplessly, unable to defend himself, let alone strike back. "This is just a demonstration for you two. Start talking, or the kid's next."

Rage flared up in Sniper's chest. He spat, then snarled, "Talking about what? They didn't tell us a bloody thing about this island! They didn't even have the common fucking courtesy to let us know we weren't the first ones they'd ever sent here!" As he spoke, Spy's attacker seemed to acknowledge his words. However, he didn't let up with the punching. Sniper grimaced and decided to elaborate. "Our intel only mentioned the BLU company was moving into the area. That's all. _Really_. We weren't told a bloody thing about what happened here before, or you lot, or any of that."

The Colonel grunted and took a moment's break, apparently to give his fist some reprieve more than anything else. Ruprecht was hovering white-faced in the doorway with his Medi-gun, watching the violence anxiously. He exclaimed, "Ach je, do not kill him! I need zis man for my work!"

"Alright," the man in charge rumbled, without any real emotion. He dropped Spy's limp form in the fresh pool of blood on the floor, then cracked his knuckles. As Ruprecht clawed the BLU mercenary back from the brink of death, the Colonel turned to his other prisoners. Scout had curled into a terrified ball, but Sniper was doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip. He felt his stomach sink as their captor started towards him. "You've got an interesting story there, Chatty Cathy, but it doesn't explain why you and your pals headed straight for Tex's machine shop. What were you doing in there, I wonder?"

That gravelly voice was somehow more threatening at an indoor volume. Sniper looked up, seeing darkness creeping at the borders of his vision. "We saw most of your men in the kitchen. Didn't wanna risk jumping them if there was a chance they'd fight back. The Spy said he'd seen you an' the little bloke out smoking by the conservatory, so we figured it could be his workshop. Thought we'd find him alone there. It was empty." He swallowed, then added, "Don't pick me up, mate, I'm sick as a dog. I'll chunder all over ya."

The Colonel looked unimpressed by Sniper's version of events, and growled pensively. "So it's just a coincidence they found you all poking around by the sealed door? You know, the only thing on this shitty island that sane people would be the least bit interested in? People like that scheming broad and her pet body-builder? I don't believe you for a SECOND, you SCRAWNY, LYING little FUCK!"

Sniper had sensed this was coming before it happened. By the time the Colonel landed his first kick, the Australian had curled up into a defensive posture. His shins and outer ribcage exploded in pain with each blow, but it was better than taking a boot to the solar plexus. The cold sweat prickling over his body was worse. This was starting to feel like a bad flashback to his run-in with those Indonesian marines. He sank his teeth into his collar and tore the fabric, doing everything he could not to cry out.

Someone was screaming, and it took Sniper a moment to realize it wasn't him. A couple feet away, Scout was thrashing on the floor and making an awful lot of noise. "STOP! STOP IT! For Christ's sake, leave him the fuck alone! WE DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" Through his barely-open eyelids, Sniper could see his teammate, red-faced and hysterical. The sight sparked a sharp pang in his chest, somehow more painful than his aching ribs. Although it was impossible their captor felt the same, he did relent, giving a drawn out and weary sigh.

"Well, nuts. ...they're all yours, Ruprecht. They don't know anything. Keep your mouth shut around them, while you're at it. I'm sure when they end up back in the company's hands, they're gonna get grilled for everything they've learned out here." Without another word to his prisoners, the Colonel turned and walked around the bodies on the floor, then disappeared out the door.

The fresh bruises on Sniper's body gave off a zesty ringing sort of pain, which distracted from the panic that had tried to overtake him. As he slowly uncurled, a weak little burp rose from his throat, along with a sour taste of bile. "Oh God," he panted, sinking down on the floor. "Oh God. Eurggh, fuck. Just... fuck."

Ruprecht was packing away his Medi-gun, and humming cheerfully. Beside him, the typically unflappable Canadian was sitting with his forehead against his knees, breathing shakily. Scout had gone full-on fetal curl, and was hiccupping between gasps and muffled sobs. "Vell, zhat vasn't too terribly unpleasant, yes? You're all still vith me, zhat is good. I vill need to make preparations before ze first procedure can begin, so you vill all haff a chance to settle down. In case any of you have ideas of ending your lives to escape zis place, zhen I vill haff mein comrade Kelly persuade you to stay longer." The German smiled as he rose to his feet, then patted the top of Spy's head. With no insults or challenges forthcoming, he left the room, locking the door behind him.

When the sound of footsteps outside had faded, the REDs swapped bleary glances. Scout's eyes lingered on Sniper, and in a low voice he asked, "...you okay?"

Sniper was still catching his breath. He ached all over, but none of the blows he had taken did anything worse than bruise. Whether it was mercy, oversight, or the fact that Spy helped the Colonel vent most of his frustrations, Sniper's head was spared any serious trauma. "Yeah, he didn't break anything. I've 'ad worse," he said, feeling a grim resolve to turn the situation around. "How 'bout you, Scout?"

The youth nodded, looking a little reassured. In the process of his hysterics, Scout had started a fresh trickle of blood from his busted nose, along with the snot and tears. He spat, then said, "...yeah. Hey, uh... I don't wanna spoil this party, but we are in really deep shit. I mean, fuck. Up to our waists. An' I got no good plans to get us out. What about you guys?"

Spy was slower to emerge from his state of distress than the other prisoners. When he finally lifted his head, it was apparent that the Medi-gun had healed most of his injuries. However, it left his emotional trauma intact. He was soaked in blood from the nose down, and his expression would have seemed more natural on a kicked dog. After several moments of struggling to find his voice, he muttered, "I'm working on it. Need a little more time."

The masked man then resumed the peculiar sort of fidgeting he'd been engaged in since Sniper first came around. Now that he was feeling less groggy, the sharpshooter could focus more on his surroundings. He realized Spy's wriggling was limited to his arms. Occasionally a faint tearing of material could be heard, just barely audible. He had been working behind his back the whole time, patiently whittling away at his bonds.

Trying to ignore the stiff soreness of his body, Sniper crawled to join his companions, mostly so he could be near Scout. He found himself struck by the desire to comfort the kid or put a hand on his shoulder, but the duct tape made it impossible. (I must be turning into a bloody sap,) Sniper thought, although he couldn't deny there was something abnormally anxious about Scout's demeanor. The marksman had never seen him like this before, not even before one of Medic's inoculations. "'ere, we'll get out of this one way or another. Just hang in there. We're in this together."

Scout looked at Sniper with red-rimmed, frightened eyes, and hesitated for a moment before squirming closer to the bushman. "He's comin' for me first," the boy said quietly. "He's comin' for me. I dunno what he's gonna do to me. I've been thinkin' about it forever in here and I dunno what it is but I don't wanna go with him. I don't want him takin' me away and doin' whatever fuckin' horrible thing he's gonna do. I dunno what he's gonna do but I don't wanna..." Scout didn't raise his voice as he spoke, but became choked with anxiety, gasping as he rambled about his fears.

Sniper cut him off, or did his best to. "Scout. Scout! Listen to me." After a few moments, Scout finally gave in to the older man's request. Sniper sighed, and did his best to look like someone who's got his wits together. "We are going to get out of here," he said in a voice that was firm but not loud, emphasizing the words. "I ain't just trying to calm you down or something. I'm making a bloody promise. Are you with me, Scout? Think you can hold yourself together?"

The youth lowered his eyes and sagged against the floor, sighing shakily. "Yeah. Yeah, I- I think I can do that. ...Thanks, man." Scout wasn't exactly relaxed, but he seemed to have overcome his panic. It was a relief to Sniper, even if for reasons more sympathetic than he would have liked.

In that cold cellar, bodies trembling with fever and nerves, the only hope and warmth that the men had was each other's words and the breath that carried them.

* * *

On the team's first day in the Caribbean, Sniper had told Demoman something interesting about the tropics: nightfall comes faster there than anywhere else in the world. With no winter or summer to change their daylight hours, the sun shines for roughly twelve hours a day, year-round. Demoman was perplexed when he heard this, as his origins in a more northerly region hadn't prepared him for it.

Now that he was alone on a tropical island, this fact seemed less like trivia, and more like a warning.

Nightfall transformed the jungle into a dangerous, feral monster. The weak light of the moon revealed less of its perilous outline, and anyone foolhardy enough to face it now would be confounded by a thousand mysterious cries, ringing out in the damp air. Demoman had never traveled in the tropic wilderness before, but he'd spent enough time drinking and swapping tales with Sniper to know this important fact: the jungle is deadlier after dark.

He hastened to escape the rainforest's confines for that very reason, following the path where Jane punched out. Demoman knew deep down that it could be booby-trapped, that it could lead him on the longest possible route through the jungle and deposit him on a distant part of the island. But he had nothing else to go by. When he saw that shed, though, he knew he was on the right track.

It was just a landmark, really. A sign he was getting nearer to the compound. Tavish wouldn't have given it much more thought as he passed by, if it wasn't for the awful stench from within. He stopped, his heart giving a wicked thump inside his chest. After girding himself with a mouthful of grog, he clutched a muddy sleeve over his nose and mouth then peered inside.

A narrow shaft of sunlight was the only thing illuminating the grisly tableau. He could tell more about it by the smell than what he could see. The body of a man lay in one corner, decomposing beyond recognition. Flies circled the room in a devilish whirlwind, giving the corpse's outline a revoltingly mobile appearance, as if it were still twitching in the aftermath of the blow that ended it.

He recoiled for a moment, his sleeve muffling a shout of alarm and the following string obscenities he let fly. The horror of the scene cried out to Tavish, on a higher level than visceral disgust. He couldn't put his finger on it. There almost seemed to be another presence in the shed with him, an unseen force spurring him to investigate closer. Gripping the Pain Train in one hand and tightening the other one over his mouth, he trudged up alongside the maggot-blown mess and used his weapon to turn it over.

His eye widened. Revolting things were growing over the back of the carcass, but its front was partly shielded from insects, thanks to the mud it landed in. Although Tavish couldn't discern the dead man's expression, it was clear he died without a struggle, gunned-down from behind. His bruise-colored, swollen hands were still clutching a sticky-bomb launcher against his chest. In the crooks of both arms, the fabric of his uniform was a dirty red.

Tavish stumbled backwards, reeling with shock at this discovery. This corpse had been a RED Demoman, just like him. As he staggered out of the shed, retching with barely-contained disgust, his mind was scrambling to make sense of what he had seen. (You were one of the Colonel's men, I'm certain of it. There's no way Sniper or Spy did that! They only got here yesterday. Someone else did you in. Someone in your own bloody team.)

Outside, Demoman clamped a second hand over his mouth and doubled over, fighting tenaciously to keep his precious liquor down. As he struggled with his rising gorge, something caught his eye- a scrap of fabric lying in the mud. It was the dead man's insignia. When his nausea had subsided to the point he could move, Demoman shakily retrieved the badge and pocketed it, then forced himself to continue his trek.


	13. Lost, Violent Souls

( _Author's note: The poisonous tree Jane described earlier to Tavish is the manchineel, a species native to Florida, many Caribbean islands, and the northern areas of South America. Every part of the tree contains one or more toxins. Its prominent effects are blisters and inflammation of the affected area, and exposure can lead to death or blindness._)

* * *

The sky was a deep indigo when Demoman finally escaped the treacherous jungle. He leaned on nearby machine shop, taking just a moment to catch his breath. While it had previously served his team's Sniper and Spy as shelter, he wasn't looking for a spot to bed down. Not yet. Beyond the rainforest, he found himself in a field of scrubby cacti, pampas grass and young banana trees. It was the place Jane had told him about, where the BLU team had razed the forest to make space for a landing zone.

Demoman's flashlight didn't help him see much farther than a few feet, but the waning moon helped reveal the landscape's most obvious features. In one direction, patchy jungle separated the field from the complex of buildings where the two teams fought. Even in its neglected state, some of the sites' generators must have still been running- Tavish could see a few outdoor lights, winking at him through the dark. Meanwhile, in the other direction...

"Poison apple trees... what in the bloody hell could he have meant by that?" Demoman drained the last of his grog and frowned, peering down towards the beach Jane mentioned. In the dying light, he could see the coast dipped into a shallow bay there, not sheltered enough to be of any strategic use. The dark silhouettes of trees spotted the dunes. He mused that it must have seemed like a cruel joke to the BLUs-a tropical base with beachfront property, filled with white sand and scintillating water, and even trees to lounge under for a relaxing nap. It could have been like guarding paradise. "Jane's never been the type tae spin tall tales about the local plant life. His lot really musta been crushed, when they found out their swimmin' beach was overgrown wi' poisonous trees."

Something about that story had put an itch under Demoman's cap. As he looked out onto the darkened shoreline, he found himself mulling over it again. (They couldn't burn the trees to get rid of them, because even the smoke they made was poisonous.) He frowned and started fishing through his pack, then pulled out a pair of stout leather gloves. After a moment's consideration, he ripped off a couple banana fronds and folded them into a rough sort of envelope. (I wonder if Jane's team also took their garbage away, when they left. All I'll need is some empty bottles or cans, and I can shake up some really nasty Molotov cocktails for these bastards...)

* * *

The prisoners all laid wary eyes on the wine cellar's door, listening to the approaching noise of footsteps. The heavy stomping was coupled with a peculiar, chilling clatter. Sniper couldn't identify the scraping, rattling sounds at first, although they seemed familiar. Then he realized he was just hearing a chair being dragged along the floor. He breathed a faint sigh of relief.

Whoever was coming stopped by the door. He spoke to the prisoners from outside, his voice dripping with disgust. It was Kelly, who Sniper had last seen crying for his medic. "You wankers are lucky I'm eager t' keep Ruprecht on me good side, or I'd be in there right now with a Gurkha knife," he hissed, darkening the keyhole as he peeked in on his helpless charges. "I'm gonna be napping out here, and I don't wanna hear so much as a peep out of any of you, or I'll feed ya the heel of my boot. D'you get me?"

Sniper grinned at the sound of the other Australian's voice. He cleared his throat, then drawled, "How's the knee doin', mate? I'll aim a little higher next time. Promise." He saw Scout, of all people, shoot him a panicked glance. (Hey, you're always running your mouth... What's the harm in taunting the bastard a bit?)

The other Australian's response was loud and immediate. "Keep quiet, you bleedin' cunt! Don't test me! I'm just itchin' to get my own back from you!"

"You'd just be putting him out of his misery at dis point. Da guy's on his last legs as it is." Spy didn't look towards the door as he spoke, still focused on his own careful work. An irate grunt was Kelly's only reply. After a few moments they heard him step away from the door, and settle down for his shift as watchman.

In the quiet that followed, Sniper turned his gaze to Spy and tried to make sense of the man's comment. (I'm not looking that bad, am I?) He was still feeling a queer sort of hangover from the drugs, but it was nothing he would have associated with imminent death. Did Spy know something he didn't?

Realizing that attempts at telepathy would be a waste of time, Sniper wriggled over to the masked man and lurched to his knees, then whispered, "What the hell did you mean by that?"

Spy gave him a nonplussed look. "I know you're very busy wit' odder t'ings right now, but I've been working on a plan. Just shut up, and play along when da time comes."

Sniper frowned. "It's your fault I got sick in the first place, you bastard. So tell me, how am I gonna know when this plan of yours is coming into action?"

"You'll know. Now get da fuck away from me and lie down again, before dat guy looks in here and gets suspicious," the BLU man huffed.

Biting back curses, Sniper shuffled back to his place and lay back down. It occurred to him that he hadn't done much, insofar as planning escape efforts go. He tried to muster his mental faculties, just in case Spy's plan was useless or involved bad things happening to Scout or himself. As he rolled onto his back in the vain hope of getting more comfortable, he caught a glimpse out one of the window wells, and realized the light coming through them now was artificial.

(Oh God, it's nighttime already? How long are we going to be here?) Beside him, Scout seemed to be fighting off sleep. The boy's haggard appearance offered a grim reply to Sniper's question- they'd be here until the renegade medic sent them to respawn. The thought sent a fresh wave of anger over the marksman, and he felt renewed determination to break out. He was in the midst of seeing if he could reach his ankles again, when there was the sound of movement and hushed conversation outside.

Someone spoke through the door in a sharp, audible voice, one that was getting to be a source of ire for all three of the prisoners. "Good evening, my friends! I hope you haven't been too uncomfortable vhile you were vaiting for me. I had to be sure everything vas in perfect order before attempting zhis procedure, you see. Now, don't get any bold ideas of putting up a fight. I have two ozzer men vith me right now, and both of zhem vould not hesitate to maim you in ze course of zhis visit."

The door started unlocking. Sniper caught a glimpse of Spy's face out the corner of his eye, and realized the Canadian was staring at him. He looked back and arched an eyebrow, hoping this would be understood as a query. At that, Spy rolled his eyes back, stuck his tongue out, and let his head loll forwards for a moment. Then he went deadpan again and nodded sharply to Sniper.

Sniper supposed the man wanted him to play at being sicker than he really was. With no time to ponder the dozen different ways this might be interpreted by their captors, let alone how it might affect the mad doctor's course of action, he just did it. As the door opened, he let himself sag against the ground and assumed the lethargic posture of a sick animal. In spite of the temptation to see who was entering the room, he let his eyelids droop and gazed blankly at the far wall.

Despite his outward appearance, Sniper's mind was racing. (I hope this is in our best interests, too. Christ, I've got no reason to trust this man in the first place! He's probably trying to buy himself more time by getting the rest of us killed off first. Maybe he's hoping those bastards will all gather around to watch us get tortured, so he'll be able to slip away unnoticed...) He was suddenly desperate to break the charade so he could study his captors and, if necessary, make an argument for Spy being a better candidate for their first victim. After a few moments of furious brooding, Sniper realized that whatever Spy's plan involved, it was more than anything he'd come up with. With suspicion still creeping up his throat like bile, the marksman consigned himself to playing along. For the time being, at any rate.

He heard scuffing sounds nearby, as Scout tried to put some room between himself and the rogue mercenaries. "Don't you lay a fuckin' hand on me, asshole! You try anything, I'll- I'll-"

Sniper suppressed the urge to cringe or say something in his teammate's support. It was clear that the reality of their situation had worn away at Scout's usual moxie, and the American was feeling more terrified than anything else. Kelly gave a low, perverse chuckle, and Sniper could see the shadows of two people move past him to collect the youngest prisoner.

Someone spoke from over by the door, and Sniper realized that voice was familiar. It belonged to the one-armed boy he'd seen putting the shoes to Scout, back in the conservatory. "Aww, you look like a scared little bunny down there. What's got you so worked up, huh, fuckface? You don't even know what our Medic's got in store for you!"

"Fuck you, Andy! I'm gonna nail you, just like I did to your buddy! You got that? I'm-I'm still hooked up to respawn, y'know! I can come back as many times as I want! But you? When I get my hands on you, you're gonna be fuckin' dead!" Scout's confidence seemed to recover a bit as he threatened his counterpart. Sniper caught a blurry glimpse of the youth, writhing as two people tried to manhandle him- Ruprecht and Kelly, by the looks of it.

"You're gonna be too scared to leave your fuckin' bedroom when the Medic's finished with you! Remember eigth-grade science class? All those critters we hadta dissect? The way their guts and all that gross crap came out when you sliced 'em open?" Andy roared with laughter. "As of now, you and your dumbass friends get to be frogs."

Scout's voice was muffled as he started wailing like a cat on strychnine. More sounds of struggling could be heard, and Kelly gave an angry yelp of shock. "Fuck, that little wanker bit me! Just lemme brain him so he'll come along real peaceful-like."

"No, I don't vant him damaged any further, or he'll be of no use to me," Ruprecht sighed. "It seems I must make good on my threats, boy... Now your companions vill suffer for your insolence. Andy! Vould you like to have a little fun? You know how I have told you zhere are excruciatingly painful things you can do to a man, zhat von't actually kill him? Maybe you could to demonstrate on one of our older guests..."

It took every ounce of Sniper's composure not to cringe in alarm at this announcement, let alone turn his head to see what the rogue scout's reaction would be. Andy made a pensive sound, and asked, "You sure that filthy guy's even alive? I'm not sayin' I got a problem with hurtin' people, but... I dunno, maybe you better make sure he's still breathin' first. I wouldn't wanna get skinned by the Colonel for wastin' bullets on someone who's already dead."

Ruprecht snapped upright, his glasses almost flying off his nose. "Vhat? Dammit, I don't vant to lose one of my specimens!"

The rogue medic sounded somewhat alarmed. Sniper guessed that in the rush to get Scout, Ruprecht must have overlooked him. A moment later, he felt gloved hands peel back his filthy collar and finger his jugular vein. When Ruprecht rolled the marksman onto his back, he managed to stay limp as a ragdoll, and resisted the urge to focus his gaze on anything in particular.

"He's been fading in and out since he woke up," Spy said.

The doctor muttered to himself in German as he examined Sniper, then turned to his colleagues and spoke with a carefree tone. "Bah, I think he can survive a little longer vithout treatment. Back to ze task at hand! Are you prepared to come quietly now, boy?"

It didn't sound like Scout was going to give in quietly, but he was running out of strength. Sniper could see him wriggle halfheartedly in Kelly's grasp, still giving distorted bleats of protest through the hand clamped over his mouth. A dismal sense of betrayal crept over the Australian as he continued playing possum. Even knowing that he could do little but offer a temporary distraction, he felt like a heel for lying there as his own teammate was dragged off to some unspeakable ordeal. (Fuck... I hope you can forgive me, Scout.) Sniper decided that the instant those bastards were out of the room, he was going to do everything he could to get loose, Spy or no Spy.

Sniper caught a glimpse of Andy, who was leering at the captives and lazily waving Spy's Browning in his remaining hand. When the other renegades reached the door with their squirming cargo, he looked like he was going to pistol-whip Scout, but Ruprecht shooed him away with a curt command.

"You'll get vhat's coming to you soon enough, Spatz. Just behave, and lock ze door behind us."

"...told you to stop callin' me that," the youth grumbled, but lowered his stolen weapon.

When the door finally shut on the wine cellar, Sniper held his breath and lay still for a moment, waiting to be sure the enemy group was leaving. Then he heard the lock being secured. Trying to suppress the sense of panic that had been bearing down on him, he scrunched himself up and bent his knees, then reached back and started testing the duct-tape that was around his ankles.

Sniper wrestled frantically with his bonds, half-listening as the sound of footsteps and conversation faded outside. He was scanning the floor for a splinter or a sharp chip of stone - something that might serve as a tool - when a sound caught his attention. That sound was the BLU Spy, speaking in a low voice.

"I can get dat for you."

The Australian twitched in surprise as he digested these words and looked over at Spy. In his hands was a shard of a knife, tinier than an X-acto blade. He had probably kept it secreted on his person for this sort of situation. Using that miniscule nib of metal, he had painstakingly cut through the tape on his wrists. Sniper could now see that Spy's gloves were off. The little blade had taken a cruel toll on his fingertips, but it was certainly nothing compared to what the rogue medic had in store. He was now cutting his ankles free, and it seemed that his cell-mate would be next.

Sniper blinked at the masked man, feeling sort of dazed by the sense of relief that was rushing over him. He tried to ask about their next move, but the first thing that came out of his mouth was, "How'd you hang onto that while the 'ard bloke was pulverizing you?"

"Stuck it under my fingernail," Spy said unflappably, glancing at Sniper for a moment. He must have noticed the sharpshooter's expression of shock, because he added, "Yeah, it hurt like a Goddamn son of a bitch. Not as bad as having nails torn off, though."

He wouldn't have admitted it out loud, but Sniper was feeling a little more respect for his arch-enemy's tenacity. After getting his thoughts together, he asked, "So, uh... what now?"

"Dat depends on what happens in da next few minutes. If everyt'ing here is quiet, I'll see if I can get da door unlocked. But if dat bushman comes back to keep guard, we're gonna have to be more... creative."

* * *

The wine in his glass was low-quality, but as the RED team's Spy sat drinking in a DC-9, he just didn't feel vitriolic enough to complain. He was clean, dry and comfortable, and with any luck, he would be back on the island in a few hours. Glancing out the window, he could see the sun disappearing behind the western horizon. The plane's south-east course was taking him to skies that were darker still, speeding up the course of nightfall. (Almost as if we were fleeing from the light,) he thought, and turned his eyes back to the drink he was holding.

Spy's rush to find a flight back had offered a distraction from the thoughts that were nagging at him, but now that he had nothing to do but nap or eavesdrop on other passengers, things he would prefer to have forgotten were coming back to him. In his mind's eye he could still see the look on Sniper's face, desperate and helpless. In spite of himself, he kept re-living those awful moments before the BLU team's Spy put him out of his misery. (Dammit, I should be feeling fortunate just to be alive. Why can't I stop thinking about what happened?)

He drank a little and thought about Sniper, about the way he had foolishly hurled himself into mortal danger to save the Australian's life. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. (It was foolish of me to put his life before mine. Very unprofessional. When did I become a sentimental, self-sacrificing fool? Neither of us was better suited to that job, there was no reason for me to try and preserve him over myself. I can't even begin to imagine how he's doing now, with only that despicable Canadian for company...)

On further consideration, Spy realized he had no way to know how the rest of the team might be doing. They could have won the day, or been shot down in a deadly fireball before even reaching the landing area. Now that he was effectively in limbo, Spy felt very uncertain about the fate of the mission. (Perhaps they found that 'property' Helen mentioned. I could be missing out on a victory party, for all I know. Shit, this wouldn't look very good on me. If I'm the only one who was killed, I'll be written off as incompetent... unless Sniper speaks up on my behalf.)

Although it was tempting to let his thoughts get carried away, he realized he couldn't be sure of anything until he got back to mission control. Spy decided that if necessary, he could cover his ass by emphasizing Sniper's clumsy error. It was easier for Spy to accept what he had done, if he put blame on the Australian instead of himself.

Spy drank the rest of his wine, then despondently fiddled with the empty glass. Even the quiet murmuring of conversing passengers couldn't distract him from his thoughts or lull him into a nap. After lighting up a cigarette, the Frenchman sagged back in his chair and groaned. (Why am I trying to fool myself? It was my own conscious decision to take that blast for Mundy. I must be losing my fucking mind...)

A passing stewardess stopped her trolley and leaned towards him. "Are you feeling alright, sir? Can I get you anything?"

Spy looked up from his sulking and, ever the chameleon, assumed a more confident demeanor. "I 'ave just had a long day, mademoiselle. And yes, I think coffee would do me more good zhan ze wine did." He chuckled quietly, and suddenly found that talking was more pleasant than brooding in silence. "Would you zat believe I woke up in ze Caribbean zis morning?"

"Really? You must have some important work to do if you're travelling back and forth like this," she said, pouring him a mug of coffee.

He exchanged his empty glass for the hot java, and settled back in his seat. "It is important to ze right people. Zat is to say, I am getting paid well for it. A man would be 'ard-pressed to find a more dangerous line of work, let alone an employer who paid adequately for it." Spy wondered for a moment if the stewardess really cared much for his talk. Not that it bothered him. After all, his work required him to spend at least as much time acting as any service industry drudge. Occasionally, he felt as though acting was the only thing that kept him sane.

Spy's mind suddenly lurched back to the gruesome moment, when he looked down and discovered his body was missing below the knees. Despite his best efforts, he felt some of his emotional fatigue seep through the mask he wore. "Ze work I do is not for ze faint of heart, though... Not by any means. Ah, but at least zhere are simple pleasures in life to restore my strength, like pretty girls and coffee. My thanks to you, mademoiselle."

"You're welcome, sir. I hope you have a relaxing flight with us," the stewardess said, and gave him a smile before moving off to the next passenger. Even if she was just acting, Spy wasn't terribly concerned about anyone's sincerity towards him anymore. Except his own, perhaps.

* * *

A lot of the renegade team's equipment had been cobbled together on-site, and the furnishings in Ruprecht's operating room were no exception. It was in a basement chamber that was larger than the wine cellar, with an unusually high ceiling of stone vaults. There were low arches in each wall opening into dark hallways. One led to the wine cellar, but Scout had no idea where the others might go. Considering the decor, he couldn't imagine what this room might have ever been, aside from a torture chamber. The fact that he was being strapped down for an unwanted medical procedure was probably colouring his perception.

"Oi, I wanted to stay here!" Kelly was frowning in disappointment at Ruprecht, as he helped the older man wrestle their captive down on a jury-rigged operating table. They had cut the tape from his wrists and ankles, only to tie them to the work surface with heavy leather straps.

Scout could feel himself wavering between panic and fury. Ever since that horrible, creepy son of a bitch said he was going first, it was all he could do not to break down. With the dreaded operation mere moments away, he had finally admitted that he wasn't going to make a dramatic escape. (I don't even have enough in me to run laps right now... Fuck. I could have broke free if it was just that doctor and Andy, I'm sure of it. An old fart and a guy with less arms than me? Yeah. I know I could have done it if it was just two of them...)

He was still biting into Kelly's hand when the doctor tightened a belt across his neck. "Freischutz, I need you to make sure ze ozzer test subjects don't kill zemselves in my absence. ...or die by some ozzer means. Ze Australian gentleman vas doing quite poorly vhen I examined him." Ruprecht buckled the last of the restraints into place, and gave his teammate a smile that was probably meant to be encouraging. "Once zis is over, I vill ask young Andy to take your place. Zen you can vatch me anatomize ze man who shot you, alright?"

The two men were talking like Scout wasn't even there! If it were any other day, he would have been screaming at the top of his lungs just to spite them. He had long since exhausted his strength for that, and was reduced to quieter means of resistance.

When Kelly tried to lift his mitt from Scout's mouth and leave the table, the youth grunted angrily and refused to let go his hand. "Fuck! Stop that, you little bugger!" Kelly snapped, glaring down at Scout. From somewhere else in the room, the sound of Andy's laughter could be heard.

Scout glowered right back and mumbled through his clenched teeth. "Hhk oo!"

Ruprecht sighed, and turned to an old curio cabinet that was full of drugs, dirty tools and cobwebs. "Don't vaste my precious time, boy. It vill only make your last moments here much, much more painful," he intoned ominously, rifling through things that scraped and rattled together under his hands.

Scout's nerve waned. He finally let go of Kelly, who snarled and gave him a hard slap across the face. With all the torturous procedures that were just around the corner for him, a little pain just ignited Scout's anger. "Fuck! I haven't brushed my teeth in a week! I hope your hand rots off, motherfucker!"

Kelly looked ready to strangle him, but Ruprecht intervened again. "Just ignore him and go to keep guard on his friends. I vill call you once ve are finished in here, alright?"

"Bah. Reckon I don't want to be in 'ere once that little shit starts screamin', anyhow. I'll give ya a yell if there's any trouble with the other blokes." Kelly weaved his way through the gallery's operating theatre, then spat on the floor and disappeared down a dark passage.

Feverish trembling had seized Scout's body, and he took in ragged breaths between clenched teeth while he watched his captors. Andy was looking strangely nervous, and as Ruprecht moved approached the dark-haired boy, a twinge of uncertainty ran down Scout's back. Malice followed close on its heels, and he raised his voice to taunt the older boy. "What the fuck are you gettin' wound up about, you cock-gobbler? I'm the one he's about to carve up so he can get his freak on. Can't stand the sight of a little blood?"

Andy glowered at Scout. "Sh-shut up, faggot! This is all your fuckin' fault, anyhow. You get it? If you and your buddies hadn't shown up-"

Ruprecht smiled faintly, setting some tools on a tray. There didn't seem to be any needles among them. "Now, now... Zhere is no reason for you to be afraid, Andy. You should know by now zhat I am an excellent doctor! I admit, zhis procedure is somewhat experimental, but haff I ever given you a reason to lack faith in me?"

"Just shut up and tell me what I gotta do," the older boy groaned.

Scout's unease had been mounting exponentially as he listened to this conversation. Unable to keep quiet with so many disturbing questions on his mind, he said, "What the fuck are you talking about? Are both of you gonna be cuttin' pieces off me at the same time or somethin'? Th-"

A harsh, mechanical chugging sound drowned out Scout's voice. Ruprecht was starting up a reluctant dispenser. After the machine began emitting streams of healing plasma, he dragged it over to where his patient was tied down. "Of course not, you tiny-minded fool! I am ze only one qualified to carry out surgery here. Herr Andy's plight is my reason for doing zhis particular operation, zhat is why I need him here." Ruprecht then gestured to the rogue scout, and added, "Just lie on zhat gurney, and I vill take care of ze rest."

"You better shoot me up with somethin' good," Andy said, and laid down with an attitude of great trepidation. "I know these healin' machines will keep me from dyin' and stuff, b-but I just can't fuckin' stand this surgery shit. You know that, man!"

"Everything vill be perfectly fine, dummkopf. Ach, you vere so upset about vhat happened to you zhis morning. I cannot believe ze fuss you are making now! You should already know I vill take perfect care of you."

Ruprecht patted Andy's mop of black, somewhat greasy hair. Then he started trying to buckle a strap over the young man's wrist, which met with frantic resistance. Sitting bolt-upright and jerking his hand away, Andy yelped, "Dammit, don't tie me down! I- I can be still, honest!"

"Do you vant me to help you or not? I haff little confidence in your ability to be still once I am actually vorking on you. Unless you vant to remain useless to zhis team, you vill cooperate vith me completely, Herr Andy!"

As the mad doctor wrestled with his teammate, Scout began testing his bonds, feeling a fresh wave of desperation surge over him. He didn't know what was going on, but the fact that Andy was both personally involved and terrified only increased his own fear. Hot tears stung his eyes as he wrestled against the straps. Despite Scout's best efforts, he was sobbing jerkily through his clenched teeth and wishing with all his might that he was with his mom, or his teammates, or hell, even scrubbing toilets in a Tijuana jail with the worst of his brothers would be better than this. Scout didn't trust himself to speak while he was on the verge of bawling like a little kid, but his mind was feverish with anxious thoughts. (What the fuck did I do to deserve this? How could you let this happen to me, Sniper? You said we were going to get out of this! You asshole, how could you fucking lie to me like that? Why aren't you busting me out of here? Why isn't anyone here to help me? Where is everyone?)


	14. Between Good and Evil

( _Author's note: The renegade Medic's plan for Scout is something I hashed out early on, but he never actually says what it is. This story was/is being uploaded in increments on tf2chan before I post it anywhere else, and I was kind of curious to see if people there would guess what he was up to._

_RED team's Medic is far more scrupulous, of course. He'd first make sure the arm donor and arm recipient had compatible blood types! _)

* * *

BLU Spy had just finished cutting Sniper free when the sound of footsteps caught their attention. A wide-eyed look of alarm passed between them, and the Canadian wriggled silently back to where he'd been kneeling before. With the tape severed but not peeled off, Sniper was reasonably confident that someone peeking in through the keyhole wouldn't know that now, the door was all that stood between the two cellmates and freedom.

Whoever was out there didn't say anything this time, and just stopped outside the wine cellar. Sniper could hear a chair creaking slightly, and supposed that it was probably Kelly, returning to guard the imprisoned pair. He watched the door for a moment, then turned his gaze to Spy.

The BLU mercenary had been looking at the door as well, frowning. He pointed at Sniper, then repeated the same pantomime as before. The eye-rolling, tongue-hanging one. After weighing his distrust of Spy against the fact that the masked man had freed him, Sniper decided to play along. He could think of nothing his rival might get him into now, that he wouldn't be able to get out of.

Sniper did his best to act near death, which wasn't too hard. He still felt kind of lousy, and there was so much filth on his clothes and himself, he looked and smelled like something with one foot in the grave. While he perfected his choked breathing, the Québécois started yelling to their guard. "Are any of you assholes out dere? Anyone? Someone better get in here, dis guy's dying or somet'ing!"

A weary groan was audible from outside the room. It sounded like the renegade team's sniper had returned to his post. "I don't care if 'is arms and legs have come off, I'm tryin' to take a fucking nap out 'ere. ...oi, why do you care anyways, spook? Back when we were fighting here, you always seemed right thrilled to see ME dead."

Spy faltered, and a little surprise crept into his voice. "You remember me from before?"

"Of course I do, wanker! I'd never forget a man who spent so much time stabbin' me in the back. Ruprecht's the only reason I didn't mangle you while we was locking you blokes up. Rather let you live a bit longer so I can watch him carve you up into Montreal smoked meat."

Kelly's voice was particularly malicious as he talked with the BLU Spy. Sniper wondered if there was even more animosity between Kelly and this Spy than there was between himself and the Canadian. He was tempted to ask, but knew it was better to save any questions for later.

Spy answered in an equally contemptuous tone, spitting out words like bad tastes. "Hostie de tabernac... I dare you to come say dat to my face, kiwi!"

It was hard for Sniper to keep his mouth shut. Even though Spy was taunting the man outside, hearing him call an Australian "kiwi" was a grievous insult. Sure enough, Kelly's enraged growl could be heard through the door. "Alright, bucko, you asked for it! I'm gonna do everything short of killing ya! I know Ruprecht won't mind. Keeps sayin' he wants to try new things in the operating room. I reckon I'd better mangle you in ways he's never even dreamed of before now!"

As the renegade shouted threats, Sniper could hear the door unlocking. Shooting a glance at Spy, he saw the man's expression was a little tense, but held no clues as to where this escape plan was going. (I'd better get ready to jump that bastard when he comes in. Sounds like he's keen on catching up with Spy. That means he'll probably have his back turned to me.)

Kelly kicked the door open a second later and stalked right towards Spy, brandishing an ivory-handled kukri. It was hard for Sniper to imagine that the BLU mercenary wasn't uneasy about this, but he somehow managed to stay deadpan. He smirked up at the grizzled maverick, calmly concealing the fact that his hands were free. "I didn't know you had da balls, tête carré."

Sniper's mind was racing ahead of the world around him, trying to predict how his next few hours would go if he didn't act now. (I keep wondering how soon that frog's going to decide I've outlived my usefulness. Maybe I ought to just wait here and let Kelly do his thing. Then I won't have to worry about getting stabbed in the back.) It was a deviously tempting thought. Despite having released him from his bonds, Spy was still unquestionably an enemy of Sniper. The BLU mercenary murdered him with infuriating frequency on the battlefield, after all. In the last twenty-four hours alone, Spy had held him at gunpoint, drank from his liquor supply, drugged him, stolen his clothes, and spied on his blackmail-calibre sexual engagement with a teammate.

Only a fool would have mistaken Spy's helpful actions as a sign of friendship. Like Sniper, he was just a professional doing what was necessary to survive and- if he was lucky- complete his team's mission here. That made it inevitable that their partnership was going to end sooner or later, most likely at the end of a loaded gun. Sniper knew he was in danger as long as the BLU agent was anywhere near him, but his odds of rescuing Scout were better with someone backing him up. (...provided that helping Scout is even on his agenda. Bah, if he tries to weasel his way out of it, I'll remind him there's more of those bastards than there are of us. I'm not leaving this bloody mansion without the kid.)

Spy's demeanour seemed to just make Kelly angrier. He growled, "I'll make you eat those words, you bloody frog... As a matter of fact, that gives me an idea. Y'think Ruprecht would like to perform the world's first castration-reversal surgery?"

The renegade sharpshooter had barely taken a glance Sniper's way when he came in, and that oversight was going to cost him dearly. (Alright, here goes nothing...) Sniper summoned all of his strength, then rose to his feet for the first time in hours. The world went black around the edges, and he was seized by intense vertigo and nausea. All the blood rushed from his head and he reeled on the spot, nearly falling over onto the man he was about to attack. After what seemed like an eternity, Sniper's tinnitus faded and the world around him regained its usual clarity. Seeing that Kelly had just made a grab for his cellmate's crotch, he decided that this was a good time to intervene.

Although the great casks of wine in the cellar had long run dry, an assortment of jugs and bottles still lay about the room, ready to be filled. Sniper grabbed the neck of a bottle that was coated on the inside with some aged residue, then stepped silently up behind Kelly and took an overhand swing at the traitor's head.

The old glass was sturdier than a modern wino's bludgeoning tool, and its only weak point was the neck, where it snapped off on impact with Kelly's skull. He crumpled forwards against Spy and dropped his kukri on the floor. Looking just a bit wide-eyed with alarm, the BLU agent stared up at Sniper, pushing away his attacker with shaky arms. "You took your sweet fuckin' time wit' dat," he said tensely.

Sniper frowned, and traded out the broken bottleneck for Kelly's knife. "Oi, I nearly passed out when I stood up there. I've been lyin' on the floor for hours, y'know?"

Still looking sort of rattled, Spy slowly got to his feet, buttoning up his pants. He seemed kind of unsure that his testicles really had made it through that unscathed, and reflexively patted the area a few times. "Well, better late dan never, I guess. We should search him for other weapons, see if he's got anyt'ing I could use."

"I know their scout had your Browning," Sniper said absentmindedly, kneeling beside Kelly's unconscious form. He kept a firm grip on the knife, and used his free hand to rifle through the other Australian's belongings. "Nothing in 'is vest pocket. What're these pills? You reckon it's pilot's salt? Suppose it'd be foolish to take unmarked drugs, anyhow. Oh look, cigarettes. You want a smoke, m-"

Before he could finish asking, Spy had feverishly snatched the packet from his hands and was shaking one out. The Québécois clamped one between his lips, then swore through clenched teeth. "Fuck, I need a light!"

Sniper rolled his eyes. "Thanks for askin'... 'ere, gimme one of those and I'll give you his lighter." Spy was practically foaming at the mouth as he flicked a cigarette over to his companion. After tucking it behind his ear, Sniper leaned over Kelly and started feeling around in the rogue marksman's pockets. "I know he's got it on him, somewhere. ...ah! Here we go." Just to get back at Spy for his impatience, Sniper took the time to light his cigarette first, then half-turned and offered a small flame to his unlikely ally.

Contemplating the incident later, Sniper would realize he should have been paying more attention, or perhaps, he should have cut Kelly's throat before robbing him. But hindsight is always much clearer. He was in the process of helping BLU Spy get a nicotine fix when a faint scraping noise reached his ear. Before he had the chance to think much of it, he caught a glimpse of movement out the corner of his left eye, and the world exploded in a white flash of agony. Sniper roared in pain and turned back, to discover that the man on the floor had regained enough of his consciousness to retaliate. "You cunt! You sneaky bastard!" he snarled, fangs bared.

Kelly was looking blearily up at the RED mercenary, holding the freshly bloodstained stump of a bottleneck in one hand. He lashed out once more, drawing jagged glass towards Sniper's face. Hissing, Sniper raised the stolen kukri to defend himself. Their weapons clashed, but ivory and steel prevailed over dusty glass, and the downed man's shank went rattling off across the floor. Fresh blood and bestial instinct were driving Sniper now; he plunged the knife into Kelly's ribcage and put all of his weight behind it, rocking it a little, feeling its blade grind against bone as it sank deeper.

The maverick gurgled and mouthed a silent reply, weakly trying to push Sniper off of him, but he might as well have been pinned by a timber wolf for all the good it did. His struggles became progressively feebler until his hands slipped from Sniper's shoulders and flopped to the ground. Blood surged forth from his lips along with his last breath, sounding more like a frothy belch than a dignified death-sigh. Then he went still, and a body that had doubtlessly been restored countless times under the RED company's plan now found peace in death.

"Told you I'd aim higher, you bleedin' drongo."

"Coeur sacré de Crisse," Spy mumbled, sounding a little stunned.

As Sniper came down from his adrenaline rush, he was vaguely aware of something warm and wet running down onto his collar. Brushing at it, he realized it was blood; Kelly's last hurrah had left a long, ragged slash down the right side of Sniper's face. It was only a surface wound, but it sure made a hell of a mess. Everything was sort of blurry through his blackened right eye, but the swelling had gone down to the point he could open it a little. (Good, my aim's shit without peripheral vision.)

Sniper turned to look at Spy, who was calming his nerves with a cigarette. "You didn't try to defend yourself when he came after you there. I'm surprised you have that much trust in me. Was that all part of your plan, mate?"

The Canadian grunted irritably. "I don't trust you for a second, tête carré. I just knew- or uh, hoped- dat you had enough common sense to kill him while his back was turned. I was trying to get him in here to check you out so he'd be distracted, but t'ings worked out alright da way dey did. Wh-"

Distant sounds from the rest of the manor were making it into the wine cellar, now that the door was open. They had seemed insignificant up until now, but when a shrill scream interrupted the masked man, Sniper swore he could feel his heart leap up to visit his tonsils. "Jesus Christ, that's Scout!" Before his brain had time to start making rational plans or decisions, Sniper's legs were already taking him out of the wine cellar. One end of the hallway opened onto larger room, obscured by light that seemed blinding after his imprisonment. Where there was light, there was sure to be his imperilled teammate.

* * *

As his higher mental functions caught up with the rest of him, Sniper screeched to a halt before he could blunder right into the open. He stumbled from his inertia, then crouched in the shadows at the end of the hallway, taking in the operating room with his hawkish eyes. (Is this a bloody torture chamber?) he thought, boggling at the architecture. In contrast with the rest of the manor, the underground gallery had an anachronistic medieval appearance. Sniper couldn't help but think of the pulp magazine horror stories he read sometimes. An honest-to-god mad doctor's dungeon lab wasn't the weirdest place he had ever been, but it was definitely noteworthy. Reflecting on the situation, he felt a rueful smirk tugging at his mouth. (I wish I'd had time to finish that cigarette.)

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and gave him a rough shake. BLU Spy had caught up with him. Sniper caught a glimpse of the masked man's form, squatting down on the floor behind him. "You goddamn idiot... Don't you even have a plan yet?" he hissed, venting smoke into the Australian's ear.

Sniper growled in a tense, sotto voice. "I've got to take a look at the room first, wanker. See how many are in there."

There was furniture blocking his view in several places, but he only took a moment to locate its occupants. Amidst the jumble of medical devices and shelves, there was a gurney and a table that stood just a few feet apart, with what looked like a dispenser between them. Strapped down on the respective flat surfaces were two terrified young men. One of them, the rogue team's Scout, was cowering under Ruprecht's shadow, while Sniper's own teammate writhed against his bonds.

(Scout... Fuck, I've got to get you out of here.) The sight was horrible for Sniper, but also a relief. Scout was clearly mad with fear and punctuated his struggles with bouts of insane shrieking. He hadn't been injured, though. To be honest, he seemed to be revitalized by the dispenser's red plume. (Is that really a dispenser? It's healing them, but it looks like it's missing some parts... Well, that sort of makes sense. I reckon they wouldn't need it pumping out ammunition down here.)

The enemy medic wasn't paying attention to Scout. He seemed to be busy with the other youth, to whom he was speaking in an irritated tone. "I can assure you zat you vill feel no pain, dummkopf! Ze local anesthesia vill keep your arm quite numb as I perform ze transplant, but I must re-open your wound before I can proceed!"

Andy's face went green, and he groaned dismally. "Urrgh, I... fuck, alright! Just do it! B-but you gotta blindfold me first or somethin', I can't watch this. I barfed my guts out just tyin' it off this morning..."

Sniper clutched a hand over his face and recoiled, grimacing in disgust. Not even his hair-brained Medic was this insane. "This's bloody madness," he murmured, and turned his attention to the other shelves, tables, and cabinets that were standing about the gallery. Between the noise of the dispenser and the room's clutter, Sniper was beginning to think that sneaking up on Ruprecht was the best and most sensible option they had. Seeing as the dark-haired punk was tied down, he probably wouldn't give them any trouble. (Maybe we can put the thumbscrews to him, find out where they put our equipment... after I've rescued Scout. He's first.)

Spy's voice came to him, quiet and deadpan. "Good t'ing he's busy wit' your guy. Dat amputee probably won't put up much of a fight since he's immobilized. I take it you're gonna sneak up on dem, eh?"

"Bloody right I am. Ah, I think I see your gun. That kid must've put it down on the trolley with the doctor's surgical implements. Shame that's right in the middle of everything, I reckon I'll just hafta do yer job." He didn't bother looking back to see the BLU agent's reaction to any of his words. Regardless of the other man's intentions, Sniper was determined to help one of his own.

If Spy had any advice on stealthily murdering people, he didn't offer it. Not that Sniper was too concerned. Without a cloaking device, the only advantage the Québécois had over him in that department was a slighter frame. As he started to scope out the best route there, he realized that he had one distinct handicap which might complicate things for him. Back in the conservatory, he was only a little sore from his night in the machine shop. Now, Sniper's mobility would be hampered by several more hours spent on a cold, hard floor, and the bruises he'd acquired during their questioning. A little moan of despair crept up from his throat. (Jesus Christ, this would only be worse if I was a bloody ninety-year-old. Once I off that bastard, I'm going to have to spend a while with his dispenser over there.)

The hum of machinery was just enough to cover Sniper's footfalls, as he emerged from hiding and crept closer to the bedlam unfolding in the middle of the room. Between the renegade's tense conversation and Scout's intermittent screaming fits, Ruprecht seemed preoccupied. Nonetheless, the sharpshooter didn't want to be discovered until after he'd stuck a knife through the doctor's spleen. Doing his best to ignore the sharp flashes of pain that were going off like firecrackers all over his body, Sniper wound his way beneath a table, then clambered over the filthy floor and made his way behind a low chest of drawers. For the first time since the helicopter crash, he was happy to be without his hat. The last thing he needed right now was to be spotted because of it.

"Are you cuttin' on me yet, man?"

From somewhere between himself and Scout, Sniper could hear Andy's voice from atop the wheeled gurney. He peered out from behind his cover and damn near died. Ruprecht was facing in his direction, sorting through a jumble of unsanitary-looking tools. The rogue medic didn't notice he was being observed from a mere couple of feet away. He finally selected a saw that must have been to his liking, then turned back to Andy without spotting the eyes upon him.

The Australian ducked back behind the cabinet and clutched at his racing heart with his empty left hand. Kelly's knife was in the right one, of course. Crawling wasn't any easier with a weapon occupying his grasp, but Sniper had gripped it in reverse so the blade was more or less flush with his arm, instead of threatening to knock against everything he passed by. In his mad rush to rescue Scout, he'd neglected to wipe the blood off it. Mind you, having a sanitary weapon wasn't high on his list of concerns. Glancing back towards the hallway from which he had come, he saw that Spy was still lingering there, watching his efforts with the gaze of a critic. (Bloody useless spies! You're all the same, aren't you... is that cigarette really more important than this?)

He narrowed his eyes and took another peek at his target. Ruprecht was now leaning over Andy with saw in hand, preparing to carve the end off the boy's truncated arm. A wave of revulsion crept down Sniper's back, igniting his sense of urgency. He wriggled out between the chest and a short wire rack that was laden with dirty objects, turning the kukri's business end towards Ruprecht. Just as he was on the verge of clearing these obstacles, his left foot collided with one of the metal stand's rickety legs. The whole filthy mess went clattering to the ground.

Everyone else reacted immediately. Scout's shrieking died off into a weak, confused note as he saw who was there. The enemy medic wheeled about with an expression of shock on his face. It turned to anger a second later, and he advanced towards Sniper, raising his bonesaw. Andy had been cringing and still, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, but he forgot his fear and opened them. "What the fuck? How the fuck did he get in here?"

Sniper didn't wait for Ruprecht to close the distance between them. His instincts took over at once; he grabbed the rack in his free hand, then hurled it at the doctor's face. The projectile bounced off its target and collided with an antique refrigerator, rocking the unit precariously. While Ruprecht staggered from the blow, Sniper rose to his feet and lunged at the enemy, taking a vicious swing with his weapon. He slashed through the doctor's coat, but didn't accomplish much more than angering his prey.

Ruprecht swore as a vivid stain blossomed across his chest and retaliated savagely. His saw narrowly missed the Australian's throat, tearing into the left half of his collarbone instead and drawing a ragged howl of pain. Knowing that he was already too weak to take much more, Sniper desperately thrust the large blade into his attacker's gut. That prompted Ruprecht to begin sawing into his shoulder. The two scouts were both screaming and trying to break free, but the cacophony was weirdly muffled to him, as though he had cotton batting in his ears. The world began to darken, even the crazed face of the mad doctor just inches away from his own.

(Oh God, I'm dying...) Trying to think through the haze was a struggle for Sniper. His pulse was pounding out an agonizing rhythm in his head, and tinnitus drowned out every other sound in the room. His field of vision had become distressingly narrow, barely a pinhole in a black nylon mask. All of his strength was behind the weapon in his hand now. He couldn't tell if it was doing any good. (Scout... Christ, mate, I'm sorry. Hope you can forgive me after he's done with you...)

Sniper toppled forwards onto the floor, watching as his stolen kukri went spinning away in slow motion. Distant sounds of conversation crept into his ears, and the shadows of people skirted his dim gaze. He didn't know if he was hearing gunshots or footsteps, but as someone grabbed him below the arms and dragged him into the dispenser's soothing stream of healing rays, he realized with mixed horror and relief that he wasn't leaving the island.

* * *

Like many of the RED Company's mercenary employees, Heavy had become accustomed to many things about his work- the abandonment of his real name, the grievous injuries and deaths, the frantic rush to get back into the fray. He wasn't strongly religious, but sometimes he mused about the implications of frequent death and resurrection. When there was no work to be done and nothing to entertain himself with, he would just think to pass the time. Right now was one of those times.

It had still been mid-morning in New Mexico when Heavy found himself, dazed and disoriented, in the respawn room at RED's Teufort base. Pyro and Medic were there as well, but no other mercenaries had followed them. It seemed that one way or another, their teammates were still alive in the Caribbean. A few harried phone-calls later, they discovered the only member of their cohort to come through so far had been Spy, and he had taken off on his own sooner than wait for company transport. Heavy felt more impressed than he would have admitted to learn that the Frenchman was devoted enough to hurry back on his own coin.

Unfortunately, between Heavy, the acerbic German doctor and the mumbling mutant, not one of them was an international man of mystery with a knack for chatting up receptionists. Wheedling their way into first-class seats on the next flight from Sky Harbor to the Antilles was out of the question. But Heavy wasn't going to wait for every RED mercenary on the island to wind up in Teufort, and neither were his cohorts. This was how, after hours of travelling by rental car and air, they found themselves waiting for a connecting flight in Miami International Airport.

Heavy had never been to Miami before, but as he sat on one of the terminal's countless benches- which were uncomfortably small for adults of any size, let alone the gigantic Russian- he supposed this didn't really count as a visit. His massive arms provided more comfortable support for his smaller teammates, both of whom were catching some badly needed rest. Medic in particular was beaten. He had done most of the haggling over the telephone and had driven them non-stop from the Badlands to Phoenix, just so they could catch their connecting flight.

Looking down at the older man, Heavy couldn't help but smile a little. (You're always hurrying, everywhere you go. Even when you're enjoying yourself, you seem to be in a rush. It's good to see you at rest.) Medic shifted unconsciously, and one of his hands tugged at Heavy's shirt, tightening into a fist around the fabric. He was usually a deep sleeper, but after the day's harrowing events, it seemed the best he could manage was to nap fitfully.

Heavy frowned, feeling oddly lugubrious. Moving carefully so as to not awaken his companions, he lifted a hand to Medic's forehead and tried to smooth out the German's hair. Heavy was closer with Medic than any of his cohorts, both professionally and off the battlefield. Heavy's size and power were unmatched, and with Medic to keep him on his feet, the two men formed the backbone of the team. When harm befell the doctor, it was almost always under Heavy's watch. He sometimes felt dreadfully guilty, even if there was little he could do to stop a sniper's head-shot from striking or a knife from being driven into Medic's back. All the same, he was haunted by the memory of that axe-wielding mercenary they had encountered in the morning, the way that he'd hacked Medic open like a slaughtered animal.

(I should have been faster,) Heavy thought, and clasped a hand protectively over Medic's shoulder. He was desperate to be back on the island, away from places where he had the chance to brood over such incidents. The flight that he was waiting for couldn't come soon enough.

Taking an idle glance at his surroundings, Heavy noted that many of the other travellers were gawking at himself and his co-workers. Not that it bothered him. If anything, he was vaguely amused by the reactions he got from most Americans. (They'd probably be terrified if they heard me speak... or just assume we're with the Moscow Circus.) The thought was a lighthearted reprieve from brooding about his failures.

Beside him, Pyro made a muffled grumbling sound and stirred. "Hww drmm hff hhd?" he asked, looking around.

Heavy quietly contemplated how one man in a gas-mask drew stares, but a group of men in gas-masks would cause mass hysteria. After a moment of mulling over Pyro's question, he decided to just state the obvious. "Nothing is happened, ve have more time before the flight. An hour."

Pyro nodded and straightened himself up a little, freeing one of Heavy's arms. He fished a lighter out of his pocket and sighed wistfully, turning it in his hand. The little plastic device seemed to be his version of a security blanket, particularly at times and places when he couldn't have his flamethrower with him.

"I know how you are feeling," Heavy sighed, and patted Pyro's shoulder. "I vorry about Sasha vhen I travel. She alvays is stowed vith the luggage." It was little comfort to Heavy that his mini-tat was simply too large for the ground crew to chuck around carelessly. (Sasha is a delicate piece of equipment. I hate letting her out of my sight,) he mulled.

Pyro looked up at Heavy as he spoke. "Ha lff wrr hrrf pwwprr fr crrpmwwr... yrr frmm drrbffd, hrrfrr."

The rubber-suited man was difficult to understand at best and incomprehensible at worst, but he was the closest thing to conversation that Heavy had right now. After a few moments of confused silence, Heavy deciphered his cryptic statement- or made a reasonable guess, anyhow. "I am doing nothing interesting. Thinking about the fight, is all. Vhen ve found enemies this morning, Doktor vas almost killed. I should have fought harder. Fought smarter. I feel bad for letting that happen." He didn't really know why he was telling this to Pyro. The fire-starter was a dedicated member of the team, someone who Heavy considered a good example for the rest of their teammates, both in his politeness and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, there was language barrier that complicated any efforts they made to converse.

The black lenses of Pyro's mask showed nothing of what lay beneath them. Pyro had tilted his head slightly as though he were pondering this- at least, that was Heavy's guess as to what was happening on the other side of that dark glass. "Hrr nrr hww yrr frrll. Hrr huddud hwn fprrf grrd prrf mrr." He reached up with a gloved hand and gently patted the giant man's shoulder. "Hw lrrf yrr. Dwr ywrr pffd!" he added, gesturing towards the sleeping Medic.

Heavy didn't have the heart to say how little of that he understood. As he looked at Medic, then the Pyro, he started to wonder how important words really were. Pyro's benign posture and gentle hand seemed to say more than a clear voice could. "I am glad he lives. Ve are lucky to be fighting this war, vhere mistakes can be made. Is best to be learning from mistakes. I vill fight better next time, vhen I see friend being attacked."

Pyro nodded, and studied his lighter with a longing sigh. Beside him, Heavy turned his gaze back to Medic, and felt himself smiling again. "I let you sleep until is time for the flight," he murmured. "You vork so hard today, Doktor. But even you need rest. You lean on me, now."

Medic did not wake, but he relaxed somewhat, loosened his grasp on Heavy's shirt and sank down against his partner's gigantic body. The expression on his face was unusually serene, the lines around his mouth and his eyes gently softened. Heavy felt a faint aching in his chest, and rubbed the older man's shoulder. He loved being around the man most when he was awake. Still, there was nowhere he wanted to be more at that moment than sitting in Miami International Airport, providing support for his sleeping doctor.

* * *

BLU Spy had considered leaving. He was alone among enemy forces, after all. The closest he had to allies at present were two men with whom he fought to the death on a regular basis. There was no telling how long it would be before the REDs would tire of working with him. It was tempting to buy some time for himself by abandoning them to their fate. That wouldn't keep Ruprecht distracted forever though, and until the rest of the BLU team made it to the plantation, it was in Spy's best interests to eliminate as many of the other mercenaries as possible- a job that would be easier if he had some extra bodies around, even ones that he'd have to keep an eye on.

Besides, Ruprecht's attention was thoroughly absorbed by the task of sawing Sniper in half, which made this a good time to jump the mad doctor. Although two scouts were preoccupied with the bloody spectacle, Spy still tried to be inconspicuous as he crept in amongst the jumble of furniture. (What the hell was this room used for, before that guy turned it into a torture chamber? Half of the crap down here has nothing to do with medicine. Not even the back-alley, crooked horse-doctor kind of medicine! Maybe it was storage.) He noticed a stench hanging in the air as he passed an antique cabinet of white painted metal, and grimaced. (He already carved up something in here before we arrived. Or someone... maybe one of his team-mates who died. That soldier said we'd killed one of his, but I didn't see it happen. What did I miss out on in the conservatory, anyways?)

Spy glanced at the two fighters for a second. It seemed Sniper was losing this one, despite the large knife in his opponent' midriff. The Australian was gushing blood as Ruprecht carved past his collarbone, and began working on the ribs below. Knowing that the diversion wouldn't last much longer, the BLU agent decided it was time to end this. He wormed his way through a jumble of dining chairs and past the half-built dispenser, then came up between the two patients. He leaned over his allied Scout, grabbing his Browning off the trolley of surgical tools.

As he reached for his gun, Andy finally noticed him and began shouting a warning to Ruprecht. "Fuck! Look out! That fuckin' spy's here!"

Ruprecht released his grip on the bonesaw and lurched backwards out of his victim's stabbing range. With nothing more supporting Sniper, both the marksman and his kukri fell to the floor. Meanwhile, the rogue Medic turned to face his new opponent, but he was too slow, too deeply wounded from the fight. The BLU Spy did not waste his advantage. He squeezed the Browning's trigger three times. The first two pulls blasted nine millimeter rounds through Ruprecht's torso, but the third merely clicked, the gun's ammunition now depleted.

"Shit! Which one of you goddamn idiots was using dis?" the Québécois hissed, fishing through his pockets for another magazine. They were empty, of course. Only his most carefully hidden tools had escaped the enemy's thieving hands.

Ruprecht sagged against Andy's gurney and glanced over his shoulder at Spy, who had backtracked hastily at his approach. The doctor sidled around the head of the gurney, inching painfully towards the machine that could restore his health. He rasped, "You had better run, before- urggh- before I am strong enough to dismember you..."

The rogue Medic's threats were deafened by another demand. "Untie me, asshole!" exclaimed a charming voice from behind Spy.

The fact that his enemy was even moving after taking such wounds was enough to unnerve Spy. He should have just knocked the injured doctor on his ass and finished the job, but his mind was muddled, unclear. Logic fell to pathos as he responded to Scout's whines. He whipped around, pocketing his gun, then unbuckled Scout's hands. The second they were free, Spy moved to release the boy's feet, while Scout himself undid the thick belt across his neck. "Get dat son of a bitch. I'll take care of your sniper," he growled.

For a guy who had been teary-eyed and howling only moments before, Scout was surprisingly obnoxious. "What, you're too chickenshit to fight him?"

Nearby, Andy began yelling to be freed as well, but his own teammate was busy clinging to the dispenser for dear life. Spy glowered at the RED Scout. "No, you fucking smartass. You're too small to manhandle dat piss-flinging Australian. Now move!"

A second later, Scout was untied and scrambling off the operating table. Ruprecht hadn't failed to notice this. His eyes darted between Andy and one of the room's darkened exits. As the sandy-haired youth sprang at him, he dashed away. Scout crashed into the clustered dining chairs. More flying than running, Ruprecht fled the operating room, leaving bloody footprints in his wake.

"Fuckin' coward! Don't leave me here, you motherfucker!" Andy screamed.

Spy pulled his attention away from the chase and hurried around to the other side of the gurney where Sniper lay, curled up in a pool of blood. For a split second, he wondered if the larger man had perished. "No, you'd be gone from here if you died," he muttered. Ignoring the young man who was bawling obscenities only a couple feet away, Spy gripped his wounded rival under the arms, then dragged Sniper over to the semi-functional dispenser. "Fuck, you should lose some weight..."

After a few moments, Sniper seemed to regain some of his health and awareness. "Aw..aw gahd..." He made a gagging sound, then coughed up a sickly mist of blood. In the rush to get him there, Spy hadn't removed the saw from his body. It was still jammed right through his shoulder, even as the bone and tissue began mending around it.

Feeling at all concerned for the enemy bothered him. He was a professional killer, after all. But severing a man's spinal cord was neater and tidier than this. He never had to see the look on his victim's face, or even worry about the body lingering at the scene. Now he was dealing with a person who was suffering right before him, someone he couldn't afford to just kill off. At least this time, he had the means to heal those gruesome injuries.

"Brace yourself. Dis is gonna hurt," Spy said. He pinned the Australian's body with one of his feet, then gripped the surgical implement and hauled on it with all of his might. Gore sprayed over his pantleg as Sniper gave an awful yowl, then sagged down onto the floor again, his body heaving with harsh panting. A scuffle of squeaky shoes and a dark shadow over his shoulder put Spy's nerves on edge. He looked up to see that Scout was hovering behind him, watching the affair with a horrified expression.

"What the fuck happened? Is he gonna be okay?"

"Never mind him! Didn't I tell you to kill dat medic?" Spy growled, feeling nonplussed.

Scout rocked on his heels, fidgeting restlessly. "Fuck you, he got away! Besides, I- I gotta stick with Sniper. He's better at this Iron Man shit than me." Scout glowered at Spy for a moment, then dropped to Sniper's side and grabbed the older man's hand, drawing in noisy lungfuls of air through his dripping nose. He looked as though he wanted to wrap his arms around his teammate, but even Scout had enough sense not to obstruct the healing process. As the horrors of the day caught up with him, his expression became distorted with anguish, and hot tears welled up in his red-rimmed eyes.

Even with pain, fatigue and hunger eroding his sense of determination, Spy didn't feel much sympathy for the other two mercenaries. If anything, he was feeling more impatient with the boy's emotional behavior. "You're not handcuffed to da guy. What if he died? Would you just sit around here until one of your buddies found you?"

"If he died, the first thing I'd do is to kick your sorry fuckin' ass back to Teufort!" Scout snapped.

"I wouldn't still be here if I didn't have a use for you chumps." Spy turned to look at Andy, who had been quietly chewing on his neck strap since the rogue medic abandoned him. "...fine. Fuck it. Just watch da Sniper. I'll see if I can get our little friend here to tell us anyt'ing useful."

Sniper coughed, then croaked, "Weapons. Find out where those bastards put the rest of our weapons."

"Fuck you! I ain't tellin' you guys nothin'!" Andy snarled.

It occurred to Spy that this boy might have never been tortured before. Furthermore, being a scout required fearlessness and a modicum of stupidity. (Seems I'll have to teach him to be afraid...) The BLU agent moved idly over to the trolley of surgical implements and picked out a scalpel, then turned it between his bloodied fingers. "You would have been better off trying to convince me dat you didn't know anyt'ing, kid. Maybe you'd better stop for a moment and consider your position, eh? I could carve you up like a bird until you sing for me. T'ink I'm bluffing? Dis is so far from civilization dat you might as well be on da moon, for all da protection you've got right now. If I kill you in dis room, nobody who cares about you will ever know."

The renegade scout continued to glower, but his anxious demeanor from earlier was returning. Next to even the most gruesome experimental procedure, torture was probably looking somewhat worse. He swallowed, then stammered, "Th-they're gonna come back for me! I know they are! Then you assholes are gonna be dead!"

"Are you really gonna put money on dat? Even if dey kill me a hundred times, I'll keep coming back. You and your buddies don't have dat privilege anymore, so if I were you, I wouldn't gamble wit' my life." As he waited and watched Andy's reaction to his words, Spy lit a new cigarette off his old one. He didn't particularly enjoy the idea of torturing someone barely old enough to buy dirty magazines, but he wasn't going to hesitate if it came to that.

Sure enough, Andy's demeanor wavered as the topic of death was raised. "This ain't right! Fuck! You too scared to fight me fair, you chicken-shit French bastard?"

Sniper spoke again, sounding a bit livelier now that he'd healed up. "For God's sake, just put the screws to him." Spy glanced his way and saw he was sitting up, patting Scout's back as the younger man huddled beside him. Thanks to that dispenser, the two REDs were probably in better shape now than when they first infiltrated the manor.

"Alright, alright. Keep your pants on, tête carré." Spy rolled his eyes, then turned back to the bound mercenary. He found his gaze wandering down to his victim's remaining hand. "You've got five seconds to tell me where our weapons are, before I start cutting fingers off of you."

Scalpel in hand, Spy reached over to begin his dreaded work. Andy instantly snapped like a twig. In a panicked, reedy voice, he shrieked, "They're in the kitchen with our stuff, honest! Oh God, just don't cut me! I promise I won't give you guys any trouble! Just let me go!"

"Dat wasn't so hard, was it? I think I'm gonna just leave you here to rot. Maybe you'll remember some manners before you're dead, eh?" A smirk tugged at the corner of Spy's mouth, and he looked down at his companions. "Let's get da fuck out of here."

"Oh- uh, right. Right." Sniper rose shakily from the floor, then reached down and helped Scout to his feet, grimacing slightly from pressure on his mostly healed wound. His gaze lingered on the prisoner, and there was an oddly pensive expression on his face.

Andy stared at them with a look of horrified disbelief. "What the fuck? Where are you going? Don't leave me here, I- I'll starve to death! Untie me, you sick fucks!" His gaze flickered from face to face, before settling on his blonde counterpart. He began struggling with renewed desperation and cried out, "C'mon man, don't do this! You know I'll die for good! What about my family? Th-this is wrong, you know it is!"

"You know what? Fuck you, man. You're lucky that I'm not takin' your other hand as a trophy." Scout glared at him, then trudged wearily towards the hallway into which the doctor had fled.

Spy was heading in the same direction when Sniper spoke up. His musings were weak, but it wasn't his blood loss that rendered him so quiet. "Oi... starvation's a horrible way to go, y'know? Slittin' his throat would be more merciful, if ya really want to kill 'im."

"When da hell did you start caring about human life, you goddamn misanthrope?" Spy stared in disbelief. He could see that Scout was suddenly fidgeting, as though his teammate's inopportune bout of sympathy were infectious. The Québécois pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning impatiently. "No. No fucking way. We're not letting da little bastard out, dat's final."

"For Christ's sake, he's not- Look, I don't want to set him free, I just think..." Sniper grimaced, troubled by the situation. "...killin' someone in a fight is one thing, but I just can't stomach leaving a helpless person to die."

"Hypocrite. What da fuck is wrong wit' you? You already killed one person today, and I didn't see you hesitate when dat happened." Spy could feel his irritation mounting as the seconds passed. The only thing staying his hand was Andy's silence. The kid was observing the proceeds with a look of wide-eyed terror, but he seemed to sense that speaking wouldn't help his case.

Sniper's face reddened a little. "Two people. But neither of them were tied up and unarmed! Here, we can tie him up and gag him, then leave him somewhere obvious where he won't be forgotten." Although he seemed to be at a loss for words- something Spy had believed impossible- Scout nodded a bit, looking at the floor.

This struck a bad chord with Spy, and for a moment he was tempted to kill the renegade just so he could prove Sniper wrong. But something was holding him back. Even if it would be quicker and less agonizing, the thought of having to see a young man die was disturbing to him. Just walking away would take less effort. He could see from the expressions on the RED's faces that it wasn't going to happen, though. "Goddamn cowards... Alright, you've got two minutes to find some tape or somet'ing and truss him up like a calf. After dat, I'm getting da fuck out of here- wit' or wit'out you."


	15. Terminated Contracts

( _Author's note: I actually took more time than necessary to hash out the construction of a manchineel bomb, although the details of it were too ponderous to include; as a resourceful man with a lot of hands-on experience with chemistry (as it relates to exploding things), Demoman is obviously competent enough to improvise explosive weapons. So here's some explanation for anyone who cares about technical details._

_There are various poisons that make the manchineel so famously noxious, and the main one is phorbol, which can be dissolved in water and various other solvents- solvents like ethyl alcohol, a.k.a. the active ingredient in the firey 160-proof rum which is brewed on some Carribean islands. In the process of making the bombs, one or more of the fruit would be placed in a bottle with a little rum, then sealed under the lid, before the fumes could get out. While they were steeping, pieces of glycerin soap would be added to cooking oil to thicken it, and give it a sticky consistency. Then some of this would be added to each jar, and the whole mess sealed up again and shaken. Windproof matches taped to the outside of each bottle would be the source of ignition- Demoman would light the matches, then throw the bottle at its target, and when the glass breaks the fire will reach the contents inside. This method was used in the manufacture of Molotov cocktails, and is safer than using an oily rag stuffed into a bottleneck_. )

* * *

Demoman's instincts always served him well when handling bombs, but he had no heightened ability to sense an enemy's explosive traps in the area. For that, he only had luck and the knowledge of how he would have rigged his surroundings, had he been the one trying to kill intruders. Advancing on the compound after his brief coastal detour, he knew there could be sentries, booby-traps, and any number of other murderous devices hidden in his path. The last thing he wanted was to cripple himself on a landmine or trou-de-loup, so now more than ever, he had to tread carefully.

Peering out from a grove of bananas, Tavish discovered he was on a low promontory overlooking the main road. He could reach it by descending the muddy slope and cutting through an alleyway between two buildings, but it seemed like an obvious place to set up anti-personnel devices. (I suppose I could just clear house with a grenade, but that might draw unwanted attention here...) After a moment's contemplation, he decided it was worth the risk. Besides, it had been a few hours since he got to blow something up.

His route was only marginally easier to navigate going down than it would have been to climb back up. After a day of slipping repeatedly in the mud, Demoman's patience was spent. He was spitting curses and gravel by the time he reached ground level, and his flashlight had fallen from his hand and rolled off ahead of him. Neither he nor his volatile cargo were destroyed in the process, at least, and the light was still functional when he returned it to his pack. It was with a great sense of happiness that he bounced a sticky-bomb between the two buildings, then ducked around back and set it off. A guttering explosion followed that was well beyond the payload of a single sticky, blowing shrapnel out either end of the alley. This confirmed his suspicion of additional explosive devices in the area. What he wasn't expecting, however, was the noise that followed.

From somewhere amidst the settling dust, he heard someone shout, "WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"

Another voice followed, quieter than the last. "You alright, Sarge? Where are they?"

Both of them were unmistakable, even to someone whose eardrums were doubtlessly damaged from years of close proximity to things blowing up. It was Demoman's own teammates, who he'd last seen vanishing in a burst of rocket-fire. Forgetting caution and the possibility that he was experiencing auditory hallucinations, the Scotsman scrambled around the corner and into the rubble-strewn remains of the alley. "It's me, lads! How'd you survive back there?"

The alley-side walls of both buildings had been partially destroyed in the blast, opening them to easy intrusion. The only lights in the area were a narrow beam from the roadway beyond, and a feeble glow to his left, barely piercing through the smoke and dust. As Demoman squinted to see what was there, a rocket whistled past his head and flew off into the building behind him, producing another explosion. He dove for the ground, shouting, "Hold off with that bloody thing! Are ye tryin' t'kill me?" The blast would have been more uplifting to his spirits if it hadn't come within mere feet of finishing him.

It sounded like the man responsible the RED Soldier was in the middle of reloading before he realized who he was shooting at. "Wait, is that you out there, Cyclops?"

Tavish grated his teeth. "Who the hell else would it be?" He could see the weak light moving within the room to his left. A moment later, it revealed itself to be a flashlight in the hand of his team's Engineer. The short man was understandably surprised, his jaw dropping as he hurried over to where Demoman was picking himself up off the ground.

"Holy Moses! I was scared he hit you with that! What'd you do to the building?" Engineer asked. His welding goggles were hanging around his neck, and as he looked over Demoman, the Texan's eyes seemed oddly boyish. From the gloom, he saw a second person approaching. It was Soldier, who was doing up his belt for some reason.

"Ah wasn't gonna blunder through here without clearin' the place first, mate. Y'think a single sticky-bomb would do this much damage? That other Demoman must've rigged the whole alley t'go off like fireworks." With a weary groan he forced himself into an upright position, feeling the day's assortment of injuries catching up with him. As his eye adjusted to the light, Demoman noticed that Engineer's right hand was partially disassembled. Further study of his teammates revealed that whatever they'd been through after the fight, it must have been rough for both of them. Something had reduced Soldier's pants to a pair of bloodied cut-off shorts, and the rest of his uniform was as torn and filthy as Tavish's. All things considered, neither of the Americans seemed to be badly injured.

Demoman was still trying to figure the situation out as Soldier grabbed him by the wrist and herded him into the RED's hiding place. The explosion had blown away part of the wall, but the room beyond it was large and almost empty, aside from rickety mess tables and some counter-space atop a low cupboard. Contrary to what Jane had told him, there was still a kitchen sink. Little else had been left behind, although he was already plotting to check under the counter for supplies.

"Do you mean to say you ran across another hostile in the area?" Soldier asked.

With his mind already preoccupied in contemplating recipes for home-brewed mayhem, Demoman took a moment to realize what the question was. He looked over at the other REDs, who seemed to be unpacking something from Engineer's toolbox. "In a manner of speakin', yes. But judgin' by the state he were in, Ah'm pretty certain he died before we were even in this part of the world." It was impossible for him to say this without frowning. Accidentally killing oneself with explosives was always a possibility for a Demoman, but at least it came with the territory. His dead counterpart in the shed had been ambushed, and that troubled him. (What a cowardly bloody way to kill a man...)

Engineer gave a long, low whistle. "Sounds like another unsolved mystery t'me. This whole mission has just been one damned thing after another, hasn't it? Anyhow, c'mere. I managed to jury-rig half a dispenser for us before I wrecked my hand. That'll be enough to patch up your wounds. We ain't movin' on until I've got my Gunslinger back to some semblance of usefulness, though. I dunno how long that'll be... I've just gotta get it workin' well enough to grab things."

"Ah'm nae in a hurry t'move on," Demoman groaned, sitting down with his teammates. After a few false starts, the machine sputtered to life and began operating correctly, which was a great relief. Once the shadow of mortal danger had left him in the jungle, the Scotsman had been painfully aware of the battered state of his body. Even drinking as much rum as he dared wasn't enough to ease the pain. As his wounds began healing at an accelerated rate, the discomfort faded as well, and he felt he could finally relax a bit.

Soldier was quiet for a change, and when Demoman caught a glimpse of the older American's eyes, he appeared strangely serene. At a table nearby, Engineer was busily tinkering with his damaged prosthesis, with a large flashlight to aid him in the otherwise darkened room. There were various questions for them that had surfaced in Demoman's mind, and with some time to kill before he had his strength back, he decided to go for the broadest one. "So how in the world did you lads live through that fight? The last time Ah saw you two, y'were gettin' blasted tae bits."

Even in the low light, he could see a faint smile tugging at Engineer's face. "I don't rightly know everything that went down there, but I'll tell ya what I remember..."

* * *

As Engineer recounted the incidents that followed his awakening in the landslide's aftermath, Demoman listened and healed. Once the Scotsman's health was restored, he took out his own flashlight and began searching the disused mess hall for supplies, keeping half an ear on his teammate's story. With no source of ammunition readily available, he was keen on putting together some improvised bombs. He had some time to work. Engineer was still trying to restore the Gunslinger to some semblance of working order. Whether it was for the Texan's sake or just the result of uncharacteristic fatigue, Soldier didn't seem to be urging them to move on just yet. Their rest gave Demoman some time to muse about the island s produce, particularly the poisonous fruit he had gathered. The thought of weaponizing those death apples was just too tempting.

A cache of empty jam jars turned up in one of the cupboards, lids and all. Amongst the other materials deemed cheap enough to leave behind when the complex was abandoned, Demoman found some desiccated bars of glycerin soap and a jug of rancid cooking oil. He came to the heartbreaking realization that there was one other thing he might need to give these bombs the kick they needed, but it would require the greatest sacrifice he could make. He would have to include his weapons-grade rum in the mix.

Engineer had reached the end of his story around the time Demoman set to work. "I know I wouldn't be much good in a fight with a hand out of commission, so after we set up camp here, I set to work fixin' it. Whew, it sure was a relief to find out that you're still around here, DeGroot." He paused for a moment to catch his breath, settling on tightening some bolt in his malfunctioning prosthetic. "How'd you make out on your own? Did you... Well, I mean, what happened to that crazy fella' who turned up and started killin' people?" Demoman didn't know if Engineer was left-handed or just skilled from years of practice, but he seemed to be managing alright with the repair job. He could be pretty stubborn about accepting help from other people anyways, so it was probably by his choice that he was doing it alone.

(Shit, how can I tell them what I learned without mentioning who told it to me?) For the first time since falling in with the two other REDs, Tavish realized that he probably shouldn't let them know he'd worked with Jane. His Soldier in particular would have been furious, if for no other reason than his loyalty to his team and distrust of anyone outside of it. As he put gloves on again and opened the leaf packet of apples, he considered revealing his information. He decided he would just have to omit the BLU fighter's presence from his account of things.

"After you two disappeared, that madman turned on me. Ah tried killin' him, but the bloody coward went flyin' off into the trees and started bawlin' challenges tae me. We spent the rest of the afternoon playin' ring-around-the-rosie through the jungle, but he wouldn't stand an' fight like a man. After Ah scared him off, there was naught for me tae do but try makin' my way t'the plantation alone." He felt his mood darken as his thoughts turned to the corpse he'd found. "Ah found that other Demoman along the way, but he was nae any sort of a problem, bein' dead and all. Whoever killed him-"

Soldier growled, interrupting Demoman's story. "What kind of MAN runs away from a fight? He's a disgrace to soldiers everywhere!"

"I'm more curious about the dead fella, myself. There's gotta be an explanation for " Engineer's tone suddenly changed to confusion when he spotted the fruit at Demoman's work station. "Wait, what in Sam Hill are those?"

The Scotsman was busy with his bomb-making project and answered in an absentminded manner. "They're out on the dunes, not far from the compound. Ah heard that every part of the tree is poisonous, even the smoke from burnin' it, and that got me thinkin'- It'd be a fine way tae flush that bastard out, when I find out where he's hidin' himself."

The Engineer frowned. "I didn't know there was manchineel growin' on this island, but I guess I oughtn't be surprised. You, uh... just be careful with 'em, y'hear?"

It seemed Engineer was familiar with the plant in question. Demoman snorted, "Hey, Ah'm always careful with dangerous things! Careful enough, anyhow."

As he turned his attention back to the work at hand, peace settled on the room. Soldier had dozed off by the half-built dispenser, and the other American was humming quietly while he repaired his damaged hand. The only other sound was the reedy whistle of tree frogs, crying out in the rainforest that surrounded the compound. In this badly dilapidated remnant of civilization, it was hard for Demoman to forget that the jungle had a way of swallowing up whatever was left in its grasp. His teammates who had been slain during the battle, along with Jane and the rest of the BLUs, were lucky to have technology on their side. The other Highlander, along with the shed which served as his tomb, would soon be lost forever under a carnivorous carpet of greenery.

It was a pity that he would be lost for all eternity in the bowels of such a hungry, beautiful beast.

* * *

It was an easy matter for the other group to find their way out of the basement. Ruprecht had marked his egress in Sniper's blood. By the time the mad doctor's tracks dried up, they had found themselves in the manor's large kitchen. Scout was relieved to see some familiar territory. It raised his hopes that he might leave this island in one piece.

"Hold up. I'd better take a look out there." A low hiss from Sniper brought the men to a halt. They lingered in an alcove that was hidden from the mezzanine and much of the kitchen as well. Scout glanced over and watched the Australian, who was checking their new surroundings for hostiles. Something about Sniper's appearance reminded him of a stray dog, frozen in its wariness of people and speeding cars.

Spy passed the time with another cigarette, and Andy whose arms and knees had been bound with duct tape, along with his loud mouth just glowered sullenly at his captors. Scout felt tempted to laugh at the older boy, but found himself grimacing for some reason. After the ordeal in the basement, he didn't know what the hell was going on inside his head. His mood was oscillating between grim determination and abject horror. (I feel like a fucking twelve-year-old again! What's wrong with me?) Being with his teammate again made it easier to keep his cool, at least. He looked over at Sniper and sighed, letting his shoulders sag. (Fuck, he makes this shit look so easy. I'm glad he's here. ...I hope he doesn't tell anyone that I cried.)

Desperate for something to calm his nerves, Scout turned to Spy. He wasn't a habitual smoker, but he'd done it a couple times with his older brothers, mostly for the sake of not looking like a pussy. "Hey, Frenchie. Gimme a cigarette."

The BLU agent frowned, making an obscene gesture in return. "Dese are my goddamn smokes, kid. Go find your own."

"Fuck you, you greedy bastard! We bailed your asses out in World War II, show a little gratitude!" Scout grumbled.

Spy glared murderously at Scout, and the visible skin on his face turned an interesting shade of red. He seemed to have lost his cool for the moment. "Who da fuck are you talking to, Yankee? All you bastards did for my country in da war was send our people in where you were too chickenshit to go, den steal our fucking glory after da hard work was done!"

Scout had expected hostility, but somewhere in there the words stopped making sense to him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Lay off it, you two," Sniper drawled, turning back to the others. "I've spotted our weapons. It doesn't look like there's anyone about, but we'd best be careful anyway." With that, he lowered his head and crept off into the kitchen, presumably towards the place where their things were.

Scout hurried after him, leaving the other man to contend with their prisoner. "Hey hey man, can you gimme one of your smokes? That asshole wouldn't share, then he started freakin' out at me. What's that all about?"

They arrived at a jumble of wooden crates on the other side of the room. Scattered on top of the boxes were the contents of Sniper's rucksack including RED Spy's attach case and everything Scout had in his messenger bag. There was also an assortment of things that Scout didn't recognize, but assumed belonged to the BLU agent. The empty packs lay on the floor nearby. As Sniper crouched down beside the boxes and started gathering his most important belongings, he gave a raspy chuckle. "He's pissed off 'cos you keep sayin' he's from France. It'd be like calling me Kiwi, y'know? I'd be busting your balls if I were him. Spies are all phony, but I don't think he'd fake having a bloody lumberjack accent."

"Huh? You mean he's from Canada? He don't look like a lumberjack or a hockey player..." Scout retrieved his pack, then began taking back all of his stuff. To his chagrin, he realized that his Force-a-Nature was nowhere to be found. "Fuck, one of those assholes musta taken my scattergun!"

Spy finally caught up, shoving Andy ahead of him and grumbling irately. He pounced on his belongings, greedily snatching up the boxes of nine millimetre ammo and stuffing them into his pockets. "You guys wanted to bring dis dead weight along, so why da fuck do I get stuck moving him around?" he grunted.

Scout laughed, his urges overtaking his senses. The BLU agent didn't seem fazed, but Andy emitted a muffled scream of anger, then shuffled over and tried to head-butt him. He dodged with little effort and cackled, "C'mon man, you really wanna lose your head too? If you keep tryin' to fuck with me, I'll cut the rest of your limbs off. Then the only job you'll ever get is bein' third base."

Sniper was busy putting his rifle together, but be seemed to be listening. "We can leave the boy here. I wound so much duct tape over his good hand, I doubt if any of his mates would be bothered helping him out." The Australian set his rifle down, then smiled at their prisoner. "If you're smart, you'll hop your way out of this mansion and find a nice, dry place to keep hidden from sight. I don't know where my teammates might be, but when they show up here, they're gonna be out for blood."

"You're really serious about lettin' him live, huh? I'm pretty sure the broad in charge wants us to kill these guys off... I mean, that's what happens to people who quit, right? It said so right on our contracts. I definitely remember readin' that part." Scout scratched his head as he spoke, feeling kind of uncertain about the fate of his dark-haired counterpart. He never thought he'd want to stand up for Andy, but even after the time he'd spent smashing heads for a paycheck, he still knew the difference between 'temporary death on a TF Industries battlefield' and 'permanent death that happens everywhere else in the world'. The guy had a family too, for crying out loud! The more Scout thought about it, the grimmer it seemed to kill the other youth or abandon him to some horrible fate. (I still hate his guts, though.)

"Probably. Our dossier said we were to take control of the plantation, though. Right now, this lad isn't standin' between us and that goal. I'm not being paid to kill helpless people." Sniper shrugged, closing his rucksack and slinging it over his back, then draping his rifle across it. "Now, as for the rest of these wankers... I don't know where the remaining ones might be, but I'm absolutely pos' we'll find someone in that conservatory. The bloke in charge said it was something important, which removes any doubt from my mind. So I say we go there, and see if whoever we find is willing to cough up some answers for us."

Scout stifled a sigh. (Yeah. He makes this shit look like it's no big deal.) He glanced over at Spy, who was frowning at his watch. "I'd like to kill off dat son of a bitch who pulverized me, to be honest, but we don't know where he is right now. Your plan works." He finished packing his supplies, and seemed to consider the burned-down remains of his last cigarette. "But I don't want any more time wasted wit' good Samaritan bullshit, or I'm splitting. Got it?"

"D'you think they've got orphans or kittens workin' for them here?" Scout scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm pretty sure that anyone else we run into here is gonna' be gunning for us. We got no idea where their Medic wound up, but he's probably alerted his buddies. Unless you're still too much of a pussy to risk gettin' in a firefight with these guys, we should move quickly."

The BLU agent snarled something in his Frenchie moon-man language, but Sniper cut him off by striking a crate with the side of his kukri. "Look, I know we're not friends, but we're gonna be bloody professionals from here on in. Understand? Spy, take the lead. You're the one who can turn invisible."

Spy gritted his teeth. "Hmph, fine. But if you shoot me in da back, I'll turn your life into a living nightmare. Don't t'ink of trying anyt'ing smart on me."

"Yeah, yeah... Go on now, up to the mezzanine. Sort of a relief, bein' back in familiar waters, isn't it?" Sniper turned to smile faintly at Scout and patted his shoulder with a large, firm hand. With some effort Scout managed not to react too strongly, but he couldn't stop himself from clutching the older man's wrist for a moment, feeling a surge of the desperation he'd suffered before. After a long moment, Sniper spoke again in a much quieter voice.

"There, now. Easy does it. It's normal ta feel panicky now and then, even after you're safe. Just breathe deep 'n remember where you really are right now. Who you're with." The sharpshooter's eyes seemed sad, even recognizant, but his grasp was solid as a rock.

Somewhere in the background, Scout could hear Spy telling them to hurry up and follow, but he was in another world right now. He lowered his eyes. "Don't know what the hell is wrong with me, I keep... it's like I'm back there, man. Watchin' that motherfucker kick you around. Gettin' dragged off by those creepy assholes. He didn't even get to cut my arm off, and I'm still freakin' out."

"It's been a long day. We'll 'ave time for rest soon. Trust me. I... I know what you're feelin'. Just gotta hold yourself together a little longer, then you can rest, yeah? Are you with me?" Raising his head a bit, Scout saw that the other man was looking him in the eye. It seemed so easy for him...

Scout flushed with embarrassment as he conceded. "...yeah. I'll hang on. You better not tell anyone about this, man."

Sniper gave a raspy sigh and squeezed Scout's shoulder, then slowly turned and followed their BLU companion. Feeling weary, Scout made his way up the stairs. The tied-up boy shuffled after him. When they reached the mezzanine, he barely noticed as Andy tottered off in the opposite direction. His attention was fixated on Sniper. Right now, it seemed the Australian was all he had to lean on.

* * *

The main road leading into the compound looked like a warzone, and the REDs hadn't even set foot on it yet. Several oversized sentries lay in ruins, punctuating the route to the manor. From their position in the mouth of the alley, Engineer was peering down the road at their objective the manor's front door. He spoke quietly to his teammates. "Now, the map of this compound ain't very detailed, but it seems to be up to date. That locked door I tried crackin' was the entrance to a RED Company facility- it had a modern keypad lock and everything. I'm assumin' the men we ran afoul of are usin' it as their base."

Demoman frowned, scratching his stubbly chin. The desire to spill what he'd learned from Jane was gnawing at him, and he tried to figure out how to approach it obliquely. "Well, it's pretty obvious they're another cohort of RED mercs. But that poor man Ah found ain't comin' back from the dead, and neither is the Heavy that our big lad put down. Ah'm thinkin' they've split from the company."

"Are you absolutely certain of that, private?" Soldier asked. When Engineer had finished repairing the Gunslinger- and thus, the group of REDs was free to leave their resting place and resume the mission- the older American had gone back to his usual abrasive attitude.

Tavish rolled his eye. "Ah didn't see what ye were doing throughout that fray, but you mighta' noticed a second soldier wearin' our colours? The one who started killin' people on both teams? Either these people are maniacs in stolen uniforms, or they're deserters tryin' tae defend themselves against bein' assassinated by the RED Company. That's probably one of the reasons we were sent out in th'first place, ye ken?"

"Makes sense ta me," Engineer sighed, loading his shotgun. "Woulda been nice of them to let us know about it in the dossier. Either way, we've gotta get moving." He paused for a moment, tapping his hand on the smoked hull of a dead sentry. "I wonder who took those sentries out. Y'think Sniper and Spy are around here?" The Texan wasn't wearing his goggles, which would have left him blind in the low light, and his face had an anxious expression as he spoke about those two. Demoman wasn't sure what to make of it.

Soldier curled up his right hand, punching it into his open palm. "If it was them, those boys could be in the mansion already. I don't know what kind of trouble's in there, but they won't get far without backup. Let's move, men!"

Soldier stepped out onto the road and plotted their approach, preferring the pools of darkness between the streetlights that illuminated the compound. Demoman and Engineer followed, wary of snipers and smaller traps. No shots rang out, however, and no tripwires or pressure plates made themselves felt underfoot. The manor lay ahead.

It was colossal, built in a style that reminded Demoman more of American colonial mansions than anything from the British Isles. Darkness obscured the overall size and shape of the manor, but the photograph in the team's dossier revealed a glass dome in the center of the roof, as well as a conservatory and adjoining gardens to the north and west. The wide, flat facade of the building may have once been a cheery white, but neglect and the relentless tropical rainfall had stripped it to the bare wood. By day it looked merely run down, but by night it took on an altogether more sinister atmosphere. Given what he knew of the Mann family's history, the Scotsman had expected something like Dracula's castle or The House of Usher, but the looming ruin was still unsettling in its own way.

When they arrived at the front porch, Soldier was crouched by the door, eyeing it suspiciously. "Steady mate. Ah'm certain' they've rigged it," Demoman hissed, and turned his attention to other means of entry. The nearest windows were opaque with dust and dirt and an incrustation that may have once been viscose curtains. They seemed safer than the door, though.

"Agreed! Proceed to seek out an alternate means of entry." Soldier stomped his way towards Tavish s location. "What's inside that window?"

Flashlights in hand, Tavish and the younger American were studying the windows that would have once let in sweet air and Caribbean sunsets. "They aren't locked, but... Dammit, I'm kinda nervous about the whole thing. I say we look for another way in, somewhere less obvious. There map showed a conservatory on the north end of the house. There was a courtyard to the west, I think, with stairs leadin' up to a second-floor balcony. I doubt if they coulda' set up enough sentries and mines to secure every point of entrance there. I say we try that side."

A frustrated growl was heard from Soldier. (I knew he'd want to rush this,) Demoman thought, waiting to see how things would play out. Sure enough, the two Americans seemed to be angling for another uneasy face-off.

Tavish turned to the Texan, hoping to reason with him. Before the right words came to mind, though, Soldier piped up. "Dammit, Engie, they could've booby-trapped every inch of these grounds by now. Can we let that keep us from getting in there and doing our job? I say we break in right here, right now!"

Engineer sighed and started to object, but Soldier had already turned to work things out with one of the large windows. He reached back with his rocket launcher, then smashed its back-end through a dirty pane. Glass and wood stripping broke, then fell from the edges of the new opening, suspended by a filthy mesh of spider webs and heavily degraded fabric. After picking away the shards, Soldier straightened up for a moment and brushed his hands off.

"See? Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" Soldier suddenly smiled and patted Engineer's shoulder, looking almost jovial for a change. "You don't have to over-think everything, private. It's like that one story you told me Gordian knot, remember?"

"I..." The Texan seemed confounded for a moment, then smiled as well. "Hell, you're right, Sarge. C'mon, let's go look for our teammates."

Demoman watched this exchange, feeling a bit curious. (I wonder if they worked out some of their differences while they were making their way alone in this bloody warzone...) He paused for a moment to secure his stash of Molotov appletinis, and out the corner of his eye he could see Engineer starting to climb in through the hole. Just as he had settled one foot inside, the Texan gave a bloodcurdling yell of pain and jerked his whole body up. The noise sent waves of terror rushing through Demoman s heart. Engineer tumbled back out of the entrance Soldier had made for them. He was still cursing and bleeding as the others gathered around him and tried to determine the nature of his injury.

Tavish could see the whites of Soldier's eyes as he checked over his friend. "What the hell happened? You get cut on the glass, mate?"

The blood was coming from somewhere specific, somewhere below the wounded man's knees. Demoman pulled up the torn cuff of Engineer's left pant leg, and revealed a large, ghastly puncture wound in his calf. "Bloody hell, they're usin' punji sticks! They musta lined 'em up under the windows on the first floor!"

Their dispenser was back in the mess hall, a good two-hundred yards down the road. After fumbling for a moment with a small roll of gauze, Soldier shoved it into Demoman's hands, then relegated himself to the job of calming the injured man. The fabric soaked through quickly, but it was better than nothing. It was enough to staunch the flow of blood, anyhow. Using a shard of glass, Demoman hacked off a long strip of denim from Engineer's bloodied pant leg, then tied it over the gauze.

Engineer was in pain, but perfectly lucid. "That was stupid of me... Dammit! I'll- I can make it ta the healin' station on my own, boys. You two'd better go on without me." The three of them froze as a sharp sound pierced the night, emphasizing the Engineer s urgency. Gunfire. It was too close for comfort.

Nonetheless, Soldier hesitated. "I told you I wouldn't leave you behind, private!"

"The man's no' gonna die on us, mate. It won't be an easy walk, but he's right. If that's our teammates in trouble, we've got tae find 'em before they're blown ta th Low Road!" It made Demoman cringe to imagine Engineer hobbling back to that building all alone, bleeding the whole way, but the thought of other REDs in mortal danger was worse. Grimacing, he turned away and kicked off an aged baluster from the porch, then handed it to the Texan.

"Thanks, DeGroot. ...rrgh, you two have gotta keep movin'! Sarge, please don't ya trust me?" Even with pain distorting his features, Engineer managed a pleading look at his older teammate. "You know I can take care of my Agh, Goddammit! myself. Even a little pain's not enough t'stop me. I'll make it there alright, and I ll come lookin' for ya when I'm all fixed up. But right now, you've gotta get out of here and track down our missin' men."

Soldier had the same dreaded expression as a man about to undergo a root canal. He lowered his head, grinding his teeth audibly, but submitted to the group's plan of action. "Shit, son... You just get yourself patched up, you hear me? You'll know how to find us.

With help from his companions, Engineer managed to rise to a standing position. It was obviously difficult going for him, but the broken baluster served acceptably as a crutch. As they were about to part ways, he glanced back at the others and asked, "How's that?"

Demoman grinned. "Just listen for the explosions, mate."

Engineer chuckled faintly, then limped off down the road they had come by. As he disappeared into the gloom, Demoman turned his attention to the broken window, which Soldier was peering in through.

Soldier growled lowly. "Of all the dirty bastard tricks to pull! Crippling a man?"

Leaning in beside Soldier, Demoman could see that there were rows of stake traps, along the wainscoting below each of the windows. The floor beyond them was clear, though. A longer-legged person than Engineer would be able to enter safely, provided he watched his step. "Let's move along, then. Ah dinnae know if that gunfire was comin' from within or without, but there's likely t'be traps either way we go."

They climbed into the main hall, which was bathed in the sickly glow of lamps that penetrated the dirty windows. The grand staircase in the middle of the room led to a mezzanine that wrapped around the walls on either side, giving access to the second floor. Demoman's flashlight added some clarity, and revealed a kink in their plans. There were many doors in the entryway, all of them leading to God only knows where.

"We don't have all night to explore this moldering mansion," Soldier grunted, looking around. "Our boys are somewhere out there, and we've got to find them now! Sooner than now! An hour ago! You must've been in more haunted houses than me, Demoman. What's the fastest route through here?"

After bolstering his strength with a slug of Caribbean fire-water, Demoman narrowed his eye and tried to think logically. He was on the brink of just choosing at random when his good eye caught something. Muddy footprints marked a trail across the tile floor and up the stairs. There had been a lot of foot-traffic through this area, true, but something about these ones stood out to him. He pressed his fingertips on back of his neck, shivering as his mind gave way to dark thoughts. "Ah think we oughta go this way..."

* * *

No more gunfire was heard as the two REDs crept through the mansion. Demoman had no idea how thick the walls were, but they were doing a good job at stifling noise. He and Soldier moved side by side through the halls. The latter had traded his rocket launcher for a shotgun, displaying a little more common sense than the Scotsman thought he possessed. With only a flashlight's beam to show way ahead, this environment felt more dangerous in some ways than the jungle had. The floor creaked in some places. A stretch of hallway punctuated by broken windows was particularly treacherous, as decades of tropical rainfall blowing in had rotted the wood, causing it to yield underfoot like wet sponge.

It occurred to Tavish that he could be leading them to their doom, but something nagged at him to press on. Just as he had been compelled to investigate the shed, he now felt the irresistible pull of something in the manor, something that he could not yet explain.

Soldier barely spoke. Like Demoman, he was probably keeping his ears perked for any alarming or suspicious noises. When a thin rectangle of light appeared ahead of the two men, it took them a moment to realize they were seeing a set of double doors, slightly ajar. The American's breath was suddenly nearer, and Demoman heard him whisper, "This could be it, Private. I don't know if that door is going to make a racket, but if it doesn't give us away, the flashlight definitely will. Don't wave it around when we get in there. Just keep it aimed on the floor."

"Aye, we should seek cover as soon as we're in. Let's hope we spot him before he spots us." He crept towards the doors, and curled his free hand around the cracked one's handle. There seemed to be a light coming from within the room, something stronger than what the waning moon could provide. Demoman took a deep breath. "Alright, here we go. On th count a three. One... two... three."

As the door was drawn back, something fell through it and hit the floor with a loud clatter, wedging the two doors apart. Soldier was already trying to lunge through when it happened, and he promptly tripped over the obstacle, before scrambling out of sight on his hands and knees. Thoroughly spooked, Demoman hurled himself away from the entrance, then looked back that he realized the source of the noise was a tall wooden chair. It had been tipped against the door on two legs, arranged to come crashing over when someone tried to enter the room.

Demoman's heart was pounding as he realized the implications of this. (Someone must be in there, and he didn't want us to slip through unnoticed.) Before he heard the culprit yelling, he was already certain who it was. Sure enough, Demoman's deduction proved to be true as the Colonel boomed, "More REDs? I'm surprised you bastards managed to track me down here! Or maybe you're just stumbling around this crumbling old wreck, looking for more c-rations to steal from my team?" The renegade's tone of voice was almost amused.

Even though he knew his position was a dangerous one, Demoman didn't have the slightest intention of abandoning his teammate or letting that damn renegade get away. He turned off his flashlight and crouched behind one of the doors, then cautiously peered into the room.

From the doorway, he found himself looking down from the second floor of the manor's library. It was a huge octagonal chamber, three stories in height, with a glass dome overhead that emitted weak moonlight. Tall bookshelves were arranged around the room's centre like the sun's rays, dominating the floor space at ground level. The second level consisted of a ring-shaped balcony wide enough for chairs and reading desks. Above that was an airy clerestory with only a narrow aisle along its walls.

A modern floodlight provided blinding illumination of the main floor, but Demoman couldn't see the enemy. "Hell's bells, he could be anywhere down there."

Just ahead of the doorway was a flight of stairs, with moldering settees to either side. RED Soldier was hiding in the shadows behind one of them, readying his rocket launcher and bristling with anger. "So, if it isn't the man in charge of this treasonous operation! What kind of soldier hides from his enemies or flees the battlefield? YOU are a DISGRACE to this UNIFORM! When I find you, I'm sending you on the Pain Train to Deathville, U.S.A!"

"You've got a big mouth, Private, but it'll take more than hot air to kill me! All of you punks are WEAK and INCOMPETENT!" The Colonel's voice rang out from the shadows, powerful enough to be heard through the open doors. Demoman wasn't sure if he had a loudspeaker or if he was just that good at yelling.

"Those are big words, coming from someone who's COWERING in the darkness down there! A REAL MAN KNOWS NO FEAR!" The fact that Soldier was hunkered down behind something didn't seem to matter to him or maybe he knew his hiding spot was pretty obvious.

The irony wasn't lost on the Colonel, who laughed arrogantly. "I couldn't help but notice that all you toy soldiers were taking baby-steps out there this afternoon, scrambling for cover when the BLUs showed up for another phony battle! You re not even putting your life on the line, but you re still hiding from ME! If THAT isn't cowardice, I don't know what is!"

"I have a mission to accomplish here, maggot! There's no shame in being efficient!" The Maverick's words must have flustered Soldier. Even hidden in the shadows, Demoman could see him fidgeting. To prove the enemy wrong by charging was sort of a tempting thought, but more likely than not, they would just get gored by their own impatience.

A scathing reply echoed up from the darkness. "Playing at armed combat for two feeble old men is NOT a REAL mission! It's a ridiculous, dishonourable waste of time. I'll bet you've never even SEEN a REAL war, you pantywaist!"

Demoman was tempted to shout a retort when he realized two things. First, the Colonel didn't seem to know he was present in the room yet, and keeping hidden for now might be valuable. Second, the bit about the Mann brothers' ongoing feud was partially true. As far as wars went, it was about as threatening and fatal as a round of cops and robbers. Temporary loss of life was a convenience not yet available to any world power, but for the mercenaries who were hooked up to RED and BLU's respawn systems, it was taken for granted. He thought to himself, (Bah, we're paid well enough. And even if the cause is fairly ridiculous, we dinnae' fight without honour...)

RED Soldier didn't take the taunts as well. Damned if he hadn't tried to get into every war since his birth. With a scream of rage, he lunged from his hiding place and fired a rocket into the manor's collection of books. It exploded somewhere amidst the shelves, toppling them away from the blast in either direction like huge dominoes. Splinters of wood and smouldering paper were dashed around the library's first level. Decades worth of dust rose from the neglected collection in a thick plume, polluting the air.

As Soldier was studying the ruins at the foot of the stairs, Demoman clambered into the room and crouched behind the old couch opposite his teammate's. The American squinted through the smog, frowning. "I don't see the bastard anywhere down there. Maybe I oughta take another shot at that mess, just in case."

"Get down!" Demoman hissed.

A moment later, one of the Colonel's rockets came screaming towards Soldier and struck the settee in front of him. The blast threw him back against the wall, while his rocket launcher went rolling off down the stairs and vanished from sight. As he lay bleeding in the aftermath, riddled with shrapnel and murderous splinters, Soldier growled angrily. "...well, shit. He wasn't down there in the first place."

Across the promenade, safely above the destruction on the ground floor, the Colonel emerged from behind some furniture. He slung the Black Box across his back, then began plodding towards the fallen RED, giving a grim chuckle. "Have you ever been in a real fight, boy? Ever fought for your life?"

"I fight for my life every day, maggot... Out in the field, it's life and death, every day of the week... Only real men can handle the work a soldier does. Is... is that why you turned tail and quit working for the company?" In the darkness, only the ghost of Soldier's baleful expression could be seen. He was clearly in pain but hanging on, through stubbornness if anything.

"Life and death? HAH! You just don't get it, do you? In a real war, only the strong survive. When you don't have death around anymore to weed out the weaklings and the incompetent fuckups, what do you get? Those respawn machines have turned fighting into a kid's game!" The Colonel spat, then scoffed bitterly. "That's not war, and you are not a soldier! You're just a pale imitation of the real thing, a scarecrow. All of the mercenaries they hire turn out the same way! If there was ever any grit or guts in you, son, it's been sucked out by play-fighting on the Mann brothers' phony battlefield. You can't even die! And let me tell you what can't die- something that's not even alive in the first place."

The RED Soldier convulsed with rage. "Shut your disrespectful pie-hole! Hrrgh... get over here, I'll show you guts! I'll tear yours out and... agh, and use them to strangle you!"

As the renegade approached, Demoman felt torn between shouting a retort on his teammate's behalf- which would blow his cover- or preparing an ambush. There was still a lot of dust in the air, and smoke from the wreckage below. With the room's only light source obscured amidst the debris, the mezzanine was awash in crawling darkness. (That's it, I'm doing this. No sense wasting an opportunity to finish off this bloody madman...)

Wary of the open space where the balcony dipped down into a staircase, Demoman crept through the shadows back to the wall, then made his way to where Soldier had landed. An oriental statue of a lion stood between them, breaking up the Scotsman's shadow. In a nearly inaudible whisper, he said, "Keep him talking, but dinnae say a word about me. Ah'm gonna read him his rights." Hearing a grunt of recognition from the other man, Demoman took out his sticky launcher and thanked the powers that be for reminding him to load it beforehand- that was the only noisy function the device had. When the grizzled renegade resumed rambling at his injured counterpart, Tavish said a silent prayer and set to work. It was hard aiming from his position, but he managed to land four of the little bombs on the seat of an old plush chair. (The Colonel will never see them from where he's coming around. Hah, if I'm really lucky, he'll sit on them.)

A blinding flash appeared from the maverick's direction- he had an electric torch aimed at Soldier now, a spotlight revealing the injured man amidst the gloom, boring into him like an accusation. Demoman squinted out from the shadows where he was concealed, and watched the enemy advance on them at a casual pace. It seemed he was in no hurry to kill Soldier, not when he could lecture him first. "Son, before I signed up with Reliable Explosives and Demolition, I was a real soldier. I was in a real unit, with real men, who fought alongside me in real battles... The people we killed didn't come back in a minute, fresh and new, and when one of my buddies got his ticket punched, we buried him and moved on. It was many things to me, but you know what? I learned to make all of it a part of who I am, and when I was out there, I felt alive.

"Then that gig was over, and I needed a new job. Had to find somewhere I could leave my sins behind, and do what I loved most. More mercenary work! And this time, they said, the fear of death wasn't going to be part of the equation. Me and my boys could kill- and be killed- 'til the cows come home, and at the end of the day we'd shower and eat and sleep, just like any working stiff in the city."

As he talked and walked at a relaxed snail's pace, the Colonel kept his light on Soldier, who was probably grateful that oversized helmet covered his eyes. The RED mercenary coughed, then straightened up a bit, trying to find his voice. "Where's all that crap about the war being some kind of farce, now? You're a big, fat hypocrite. A big, fat hypocrite who talks too damn much!"

Beads of sweat were creeping through Demoman's scalp, vexing him sorely. He couldn't move until the enemy was in range of his bombs, though. Absolute stillness was his friend right now, and his saviour. For lack of anything else to do, he listened to the older Soldier's monologue.

"You call me a hypocrite? ...hah, I was for a while. Going wherever I was sent, fighting for whatever ridiculous goal they asked me to, just like an obedient little toy soldier. Being sent to this island was the last straw for me! The only equipment they sent us that worked as intended was the fucking respawn machine. We were all ready to take off then, contracts and company assassins be damned. But then Tex put a bug in my ear... Bah, but that's irrelevant. Here and now, I'm a REAL Soldier again, MY LIFE in MY HANDS, ready to live or die fighting. And you... YOU!"

(Oh, you're in for a surprise. Just a few more paces...) Demoman's body tensed in anticipation of the blast. He was a little intrigued by the man's words, almost curious to know everything that had brought the Colonel to this point in time and space, what had turned him into such a person... But one thing mattered more to Demoman than anything else right now, and that was revenge. (I don't care if he's the Queen of Sheba, he murdered a Clansman. I'm going to do such a job on this bastard, they'll be picking bits of him off the walls and ceiling.)

Soldier growled, his lips drawn back in a bulldog's grimace. The Colonel spat, moving inexorably towards his doom. Nine steps... eight... seven... "YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU ARE A HOLLOW IMITATION OF A FIGHTING MAN! YOU ARE NOT EVEN ALIVE! THAT is why I turned my back on the company, MAGGOT! Because as long as I was a part of their make-believe war, I could never-"

Demoman triggered the sticky-bombs. There was a guttering explosion that threw shrapnel, flesh and upholstery in all directions, shaking the promenade. The Colonel's flashlight ceased to be, and the area was plunged into darkness. Although the Scotsman was satisfied he'd timed his attack perfectly, something nagged at him in the moment of silence that followed.

He reached for his flashlight and strode from his hiding place, hurrying to investigate what remained of their enemy. Against anything he could have anticipated, Demoman found himself hoping it wasn't too late to get some answers.


	16. A Common Goal

( _Author's notes: The weapon BLU Spy is using is actually an Inglis Hi-power, a variant of the Browning Hi-power that was produced by the John Inglis Company in Canada during World War Two. When it became apparent that the Fabrique Nationale plant in Belgium (where the Browning was being manufactured) would fall into German hands, the British sought to find a new manufacturer in safer territory. The Germans themselves made use of the FN plant, releasing the Browning under the name Pistole 640(b). It was used predominantly among the Waffen-SS and Fallschirmjager._

_I appreciate comments in the "reviews" section, although anyone hoping for an answer to their questions is better off finding the story on tf2chan and bringing them up there, or taking the time to log in and PM me here._ )

* * *

"This is like bloody déja vu," Sniper muttered, following the translucent shape of his usual nemesis. The manor was much darker now than it had been in the afternoon, but Kelly's lighter and that trail of cables helped guide the three men towards their goal. Considering that they had infiltrated the conservatory once already, the Australian was expecting to run afoul of booby traps, or at least someone keeping guard, but their route was surprisingly free of fresh defensive measures.

As he crept through the darkness with his cohorts, Sniper was trying to formulate a plan of attack for when they arrived. He realized there was no way of knowing who would be there and focused on his surroundings instead. Ahead of him, BLU Spy was silent and moving with the confidence that comes from being nearly invisible. (I can't believe I've lasted the whole day without killing him. He's going to turn on us eventually, it's just his nature. Slimy bastard...) This was the first time Sniper had ever been in his rival's company for longer than it took one man to finish the other, and part of him was wishing the BLU agent would break the spell, would finally live up to his expectations of treachery. He frowned, running a hand over his face and considering his own reasons for not backstabbing Spy. It was the hostile territory they were in more than anything. Until Sniper knew that horrible renegade soldier was dead, he couldn't bring himself to kill the Canadian without provocation. (Christ, this must be making me soft. I'm almost starting to think of him as an ally.)

Ahead, the end of the hall appeared in the form of those same double doors they had seen before. A thin shaft of light fell on the group as they stopped in their tracks. Sounds of conversation could be heard from the next room. Sniper glanced back at Scout, and gestured for the boy to come up alongside him. "Let's wait a moment. I don't know what's going on in there," he whispered.

Spy stood between the REDs and the door, but Sniper deferred the task of eavesdropping to him. After a few moments, the Québécois grumbled faintly. "Sounds like da Doctor and da Engineer. Dey're arguing about somet'ing, I didn't catch all of it."

"Well, there's more of us than there are of them. I reckon that door's still noisy, so we'll have to come in with our weapons at the ready." Sniper frowned. He would have preferred to sneak in and perforate some heads, but nothing else had gone right today, so he wasn t about to push his luck. His teammate nodded anxiously in some form of agreement, but the invisible man was naturally gun-shy.

Spy laid out his plan. "You guys can't get in dere unseen. I can. If you two distract dem wit' a little gun-waving, I'll sneak in after you and pick dem bot' off."

That was the kind of suggestion Sniper was expecting. He gave the blue blur a nonplussed look, considering both the situation now and what had gone before. Then Scout spoke for the first time since they left the kitchen, which took both of his companions by surprise. "Hey, if you're gonna do that, you don't need your gun. Give it to me. Those fuckers took my Force-a-Nature, so I'm stuck with a fuckin' Saturday night special. They ain't gonna put their hands up if I come in pointin' that at 'em, y'know?" The kid smiled impishly, which was sort of a relief to Sniper. He'd been worried by Scout's lack of moxie.

It came as no surprise that Spy was disagreeable to this suggestion. "Why da fuck would I- Hostie, do you really t'ink I'd turn on you at dis point?"

"Think of it as insurance, mate," Sniper grunted, giving Spy a meaningful glare. "Besides, the boy's right. That Walther of his wouldn't scare a bloody corner store clerk, let alone these blokes."

Spy groaned in disgust but capitulated, and gave his considerably sturdier handgun over to Scout. The American accepted it with a shit-eating grin and offered his own weapon in return, but was turned down. "I'll manage wit' da rest of my gear. Now get in dere. I'll be right behind you."

After the harrowing events of the day, Sniper was ready for just about anything. So when he kicked the door open and lunged into the room with Scout hot on his heels, he was only marginally surprised to discover an active sentry in the room. It was aimed in the direction of the door, and stood between the REDs and the renegades, beeping cheerfully at the sudden appearance of moving targets.

Scout reacted faster than anyone else in room, including his teammate. "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?" he bawled, tackling Sniper down behind the nearest cover.

Sniper's mind was still in the midst of analyzing the situation. He landed on his side and gave a grunt of pain. The sound of automatic gunfire sent an instinctive jolt of alarm through the marksman, and he looked up at Scout, feeling shock and anger give way to relief. He had saved the other RED in the same manner, during their first disastrous fight in the conservatory. As the sentry's twin machine-guns went quiet, Sniper found his voice again. "Good reflexes, mate."

The boy punched his shoulder, smirking faintly. "Hey, what're friends for? I had ta pay you back for this afternoon." As the two men disentangled themselves, they could hear the sentry's curious whirr, and their enemies lapsing into a heated discussion of the situation.

Ruprecht seemed to be in a furious panic, and was speaking much louder than Tex. "Now vhat are you going to do about zhem? Turn zhat verdammt robot off. Ve cannot even step onto zhat side of ze room vith it zhere, let alone go over to kill ze intruders!"

A large metalworking press provided cover for the two REDs, but not much of a view. Peering through a gap in the casing, Sniper could see just enough of Ruprecht to know the man was armed. "If that bastard comes around here, I'll cut his fucking throat," he murmured, wondering what kind of a shot he might be able to get from their current position.

The renegade Engineer spoke up, sounding strangely relaxed about the situation. "Hold your horses. They're not goin' anywhere with my sentry aimed at 'em. Did Kelly take his sniper rifle back ta the break room, or is it- "

Ruprecht stomped about. "Vere you even listening to me? Kelly is probably dead! I haff no idea vhere his gun is, and ve must act now! Zhey could have rearmed zhemselves, and- Scheiße, one of zhem vas a spy! He could be anyvhere! Look for him!"

Although he was still expecting BLU Spy to begin the festivities by backstabbing him, Sniper only devoted a moment to checking behind himself and his teammate, before he began looking for an opening. Even if he couldn't see much of the enemy from here, he knew the sentry was perfectly susceptible to gunfire. Beside him, Scout seemed to be thinking the same thing. Before they could open fire, an electro-sapper appeared on the robot. It shut down with an unhealthy grinding sound. Seeing the opportunity at hand, Sniper hissed, "Now!"

With their weapons drawn, the REDs emerged from cover to see Tex and Ruprecht scrambling towards the damaged machine. The renegades stopped in their tracks when they saw guns pointing at them. The Engineer stepped back and lifted his hands, but Ruprecht fumbled to return the threatening gesture with his own weapon- the stolen Force-a-Nature.

"You motherfucker! That's mine!" Scout was incensed at the sight of his beloved scattergun. He took aim at Ruprecht, who seemed to much less confident in dealing with enemies who weren't tied up.

Sniper was in less of a hurry. "Hold off for a moment. We won't get a second chance to grill these wankers for information. He can't hurt us anyways. You know that thing's only dangerous at point-blank range."

The doctor's face was looking a little grey. "Zhis is murder! You know ve are no longer connected to ze respawn system!"

"Never stopped anyone before," Sniper said dryly. "You lot are probably the real reason we were sent here. I don't give a toss for company loyalty, but you must've known it'd end like this when you broke your contracts. I'd be all for killing you bastards anyways, out of a sense of professional obligation, but I reckon you've earned a violent end- especially you, Doc." The marksman instinctively lifted a hand to adjust the shades that were no longer there, then spat. "You know what, Scout? Changed my mind."

A stranger would have found it chilling how quickly Scout followed his suggestion, but Sniper had a pretty good idea of how the kid was feeling. This was revenge. Before Ruprecht could brace the Force-a-Nature against his hip, he was falling to the floor with three fresh bullet-holes in his body. Wounded and at his wit's end, the Medic didn't meekly submit to his fate. He scrabbled over the floor on hands and knees, finding shelter behind his teammate. "Get the fuck outta the way, asshole!" Scout barked, waving his gun at the rogue engineer.

Tex looked at the REDs, his expression hidden behind inscrutably dark goggles, then sighed and turned to deal with Ruprecht. "Now hold on. There's no need for this. Just lemme take care a something, and I'll tell you folks whatever you want to know."

Scout growled but held back from shooting both men, much to Sniper's relief. The Texan's body language didn't sit right with him, though, and he felt himself tensing up instinctively. He could see a sliver of Ruprecht's face as the man struggled to sit up; he was sickly pale, regarding Tex with with a sort of appalled desperation. The Australian spoke, "Oi, I want both of your hands where I can- "

The sound of a gunshot cut him off, and Sniper stared at the two renegades. Scout gawked as well, and exclaimed, "What the fuck, man? " Ruprecht was now cooling on the floor with a fatal head-wound, delivered by his own teammate.

Words bubbled up in Sniper's mind, seemingly of their own accord. (The unkindest cut of all,) he thought, frowning. Nobody would miss that German psychopath, but suffering a murderous betrayal? It was a hell of a way to go.

Tex holstered the burly looking revolver he'd used to finish off the doctor- a Colt SAA, no less- and displayed the palms of his hands to the REDs. "Now that that's over with, you fella's can stand down. Same with you, Spy, wherever you are. We're all workin' for the same people right now."

"No goddamn way," said a disembodied voice. "I'm not doing anyt'ing until I know what dis is all about."

"Fuckin' A," Scout drawled, thumbing the Browning's business end. Sniper glanced at him for a moment and gave a short, sharp nod, then turned his eyes back to Tex.

(Smart lad,) he thought.

"I can understand yer apprehensions, so I'll let you in on this here situation. Y'all have seen that secret door by now, and you've probably figured out there's somethin' pretty big on the other side. Damn right there is- that's one of Radigan Conagher's old laboratories! That's why I'm here. This's all approved, I've been talkin' with the lady in charge about it..." The grizzled engineer smiled. His expression would have seemed more charming if it wasn't for the body on the floor behind him. "Now, she's pretty keen on acquirin' this manor's secrets. Turns out the plantation's ownership is under dispute, but anything that old genius left here belongs to the Mann Company now. Nobody's gettin' in there without my help, so you boys just sit back and put yer heels up for a while. I've got the code almost cracked."

The name Tex had mentioned gnawed at Sniper's memory, but he couldn't recall its significance. Hoping to avoid any sudden death experiences, he lowered his rifle, came out from behind the RED's hiding place, then moved past the ruined sentry and put his back against the wall. As if sensing his unease, Scout came out and joined him. "I suppose you expect us to take your word for all this? The bloke in charge mentioned what you're working on in 'ere, but he didn't say a bloody thing about the Administrator's involvement. In fact, he made it sound like you lot were working against her. Not to mention the rest of us."

Scout bristled and added, "Yeah, your fuckin' buddies had a lot of fun with us while we were tied up. I oughta blow your brains out just for that!"

"Now calm down, son. This operation's been extremely dangerous for me. You try workin' behind the Colonel's back! He won't give you no more trouble tonight, and if he decides to come down here, y'all are free to kill him. I had a hell of a time keepin' his suspicions offa me, let me tell you. The man's paranoid." With a demeanor that was understandably wary, Tex sidled away from the REDs, and towards the alcove where the sealed door was set. When he reached the other end of the room without taking a knife to the back, his attention seemed to turn to the computer, which was still working indefatigably at its task.

"This is bogus," Scout muttered, trading dubious looks with Sniper. "Seriously, I think we oughta just kill him. What the fuck is this guy trying to pull? You think he's tellin' the truth about working for the Mann Company, like... like some kinda double agent?"

"I don't know. I'm not putting my gun down, that's for bloody sure. If he's lying, he's certainly taken it farther than I would have." Sniper's gaze flickered to Ruprecht's mortal remains, which were still draining onto the floor, an ugly reminder of the manner in which the man had lived and died. "I can't tell you what to make of all this..."

The younger man frowned at scene around them, absentmindedly rubbing his nose. "What a fuckin' mess. Hey, you think that spy's taken off?"

"Nah, he's probably loafing about somewhere. Waiting for an opportunity. If that engineer's telling the truth, we're probably expected to stand down until the Administrator's contacted us. She's gonna have to send someone here, if the Mann Company wants whatever's in that sealed room. He paused, then sighed. If he's lying, we may as well take a breather anyhow. We'd never get that door open on our own. And we've got our guns pointed at that filthy little bugger, just in case he gets any funny ideas." Despite his best efforts, Sniper couldn't stifle the yawn that was rising up from inside of him. His wounds had been mended, but blood loss and mental fatigue were taking their toll. He let his rucksack fall to the crook of his elbow, then rifled through it with his free hand and took out a tin of rations. "Cover me for a moment, I'm bloody famished. You want some ANZAC biscuits?"

Scout appeared to be in the same state as himself, and blinked owlishly at the question. "Whahuh? Oh, hardtack... gross, that stuff's like cardboard. I got some cookies left. I'll eat when you're done. Hey, can I have a cigarette?"

Sniper growled irritably, but decided to indulge the kid. Unlike Spy, his life didn't depend on a continuous supply of nicotine, and he could spare one or two. After both REDs were furnished with cigarettes, Sniper sagged to the floor and lay his rifle across his knees, then ate quickly. He could see a faint distortion on the other side of the room, where BLU agent was lurking like a deadly mirage. (I almost feel sorry for him, skulking over there all alone.)

For the first time in hours, Sniper's mind was free to wander to other topics, and he soon found himself longing for Engineer's company. (God, I don't know if I can look you in the eye after what happened. I'm such a bloody fool. I never should've agreed to come here with Spy, I just couldn't seem to control myself last night! If only I'd been with you instead... why wasn't it you?) The marksman grimaced. There were more pressing matters at hand than the state of Sniper's relationship with Engineer, but in the absence of mortal danger, all of his desires and uncertainties began settling around him like a blanket of snow. He gnawed morosely at a piece of hardtack, and wondered if Engineer would forgive him. He wondered if he could forgive himself.

* * *

As far as his days in the jungle had been, this probably counted among the worst for Andy. It was definitely the worst one in recent memory, even counting everything else that had happened since his team split from the company, and set up camp out here in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere. (No, not Buttfuck, Nowhere. Even farther from home than that. We're talkin' the asshole of the world, out here.)

There were times for charging forwards in life and living in the moment, and times for looking back on everything you had ever done and wondering if you made a few bad choices somewhere in between. The latter wasn't something Andy experienced very often, but he was definitely having one of those moments right now. Half-hobbling, half-hopping through the darkness with absolutely no way to defend himself and no idea where to go next, he couldn't feel much right now aside from fear and regret.

Oh there had been anger, too. Plenty of it. He had expended his ample supply of the emotion in the short time between Ruprecht's flight and that BLU fucker's ultimatum. Andy cringed and tightened his duct-taped fist as he remembered the sight of that scalpel just inches away from his remaining fingers. Then he grimaced at the sensation of sweat pooling in the creases of his right hand. (I've gotta get this fuckin' tape off before, before my hand starts to cook alive, or rot, or somethin'. This can't be good for me. Gotta get the tape off my mouth too, while I'm at it.)

Andy already knew the front door wouldn't be safe. It was booby-trapped. Taking a dive from one of the second story windows would be marginally less suicidal, so he went to the big hall anyways, planning to take the stairs up. When he arrived there and saw the broken window, his heart leapt painfully in his chest. (Oh fuck, we've got more intruders over here!) Eyes wide with alarm, he tottered over to examine the scene more closely.

Even in the bad light, he could make out dark stains on the stakes they'd arranged below the windows. The blood didn't go any further inside than that. He could see more out on the porch, painting a trail that lead off down the road. (Did someone leave through the window, then? Maybe that's where Ruprecht went. Fuckin' chickenshit son of a bitch...) Leaning cautiously over, Andy noticed there wasn't much glass outside on the porch, and decided to make a jump for freedom.

By throwing himself out the window he managed to avoid the stake trap, but landed rather awkwardly, and took about a minute to get upright again. Rolling around in dirt and splinters and someone else's blood, Andy felt some of his anger coming back. It was a good feeling. Anger was better than fear. Once he was up, he decided to follow the bleeder's tracks down the road. (It's gotta be Ruprecht. When I find that asshole, I'm gonna bite his fuckin' face off. He didn't even fix my fuckin' arm!) Truth be told, the aborted transplant procedure had freaked Andy out, but looking back on it now, he was sort of wishing Ruprecht had been able to complete it. (How did those fuckers get loose, anyhow? Kelly must've fucked up. I don't know what he did, but I just know it's his fault. I wonder if they killed him. Fuck, I wonder how I'm gonna get off this island... I don't wanna end up like the rest of those assholes.)

Shambling through alternating pools of darkness and light, Andy made his way slowly down the road, and his mind turned again to regrets. It was hard not to brood. (When we came out here, I thought it'd turn out like one of those westerns where the heroes rob a train or some shit, and ride off into the sunset at the end. Now it's turning out like that one where Humphrey Bogart shoots his buddy for the gold, then gets himself killed off by bandits. Fuck, I never shoulda come here...)

There was a time when he would have been horrified by all the death around him, but bit by bit, his team's brotherly love for one another had eroded. Their first stint on the island had been bad enough. Between the malfunctioning equipment and the choking atmosphere, only the hope of victory over the BLUs- and the fat bonus to their salaries that would have come with it- kept Andy and his teammates from falling apart. Things had only gotten worse after that. Now, as Andy struggled to cover ground through the treacherous dark, he felt only a weary acknowledgement of the other men's deaths. There wasn't much room left in his heart to worry about other people, and he could only think of one person who roused feelings of sadness within him.

On the plantation's lonely road, with only the night for companionship, Andy paused for a moment and found himself wincing back tears. That BLU Spy's words were still haunting him. He really was as far from home as he could possibly get. (I don't wanna get killed out here! Oh God, what'll happen to me? Will Ma ever find out if I die?)

* * *

Demoman's flashlight revealed the body of the renegade, lying flat on his back amidst the debris. The explosion had torn the clothes from the left half of his body, as well an arm and a good deal of flesh to boot. If he was still alive, he wouldn't be for very long.

A growl of contempt rose from the RED Soldier, who was nursing his own injuries. Demoman studied the scene with more weariness than vengeful delight. The day had been terribly long, and he had spent far too much of it sober. A gulp of volatile rum took the edge off of his mood. As he stepped towards the Colonel, Demoman began feeling more satisfaction with his work. "You're no' gettin' up after that, ye bastard."

Against all odds, the rogue mercenary gave a bubbly groan. Demoman tensed, watching the Colonel's remaining hand like a hawk. He scrabbled at the floor, then rose up and weakly searched for something at his left hip. As if echoing Tavish's own thoughts, Soldier hissed, "Has he got a sidearm? A grenade?"

"...dammit," came a choked whisper from the floor. Whatever he hoped to find, it was no longer there.

Summoning his nerve, Demoman stalked over and kicked the Colonel's hand off to one side, then pinned it to the floor with a boot-toe. He shined his light on the man's head, and snarled, "If there's any life left in ye, mate, you'd best be usin' it tae say your last words. It's over."

The Colonel's helmet had come off in the blast, and his face was torn and bleeding, embedded with shrapnel. He squinted against the flashlight's beam, and even with his life draining out onto the floor, there was a wild gleam in his eyes. It was an awareness that most men lost when they were this far gone. "So, you caught up with me. I knew you were... nggh... stubborn enough for the job. I can see that look on your face. This is personal, isn't it?"

A jolt of alarm struck Demoman. The last thing he wanted right now was for the dying man to start talking about Jane. He swallowed the knot in his throat, then said, "Ah found your team's Demoman. What happened on this island? Why was he killed?"

"The Scot... So that's what this is all about? Not that guy who... saved your sorry carcass, back in the jungle?" The Colonel was struggling to breathe, let alone speak, but his tone was remarkably casual. Their conversation could have been completely normal, if it wasn't for the fact that one participant was on the verge of death. He gave a weak, embittered growl. "I'm the one who killed him. He sold us out... Tex caught him radioing someone at TF Industries, and... came to me about it. I didn't want to terminate one of my own men, but-" He suddenly balked and turned his head to one side, then coughed up a frothy mess of blood.

Demoman grimaced, feeling a dull sort of horror at the Colonel's story. Betraying an employer was bad enough, but selling your teammates out? It was hard for him to imagine a clansman doing that. True, he didn't personally know every other Demoman in the world, but turning traitor went against the code of ethics that HE was raised with. Slowly shaking his head, he spoke to the man on the floor. "All of your people had t'know you'd be hunted down by the company for goin' rogue. Why'd ye do it?"

"...everyone had their own reasons. Greed, mostly. We were all sick of the bullshit... and Tex promised the boys that whatever was sealed away behind that door, it'd make them... so rich and powerful, they'd be set for life." A rueful smile tugged at the Colonel's face, despite the pain he was doubtlessly feeling. "I don't know if there's riches in there, or bombs, or... just a whole bunch of old garbage, but even when we split from RED... I knew it wouldn't pay off. Not soon enough to save us. I just wanted to die like a real man... not running from company assassins, or the CIA, or everyone else who wants me dead. Like a man... with my boots on."

As the Colonel started talking about greed and sealed riches, the two REDs stopped making sense of his story. In the choking heat of that ruined library, they stared at the dying man and listened with mounting confusion. Soldier blurted, "What in God's name do you mean by that? Explain yourself, you dirty bastard traitor!"

"You'll know soon enough," the older man rasped, struggling not to choke on his own gore. He was grimacing now, in pain rather than anger, too weak to display more than momentary spasms of emotion. Still pinned under Demoman's boot, his hand was like a latex glove, waxen and motionless. After clearing more blood from his trachea, he added, "There's no way in hell that... Tex is going to give this place's secrets up to anybody. Not without... a fight. When he wants something, he's unstoppable."

Overcome by a fresh wave of burning curiosity, Demoman crouched down and grabbed the Colonel's shoulder, giving him a shake. "What bloody secrets? What's worth dyin' for on this Godforsaken weed-patch?"

The Colonel made a faint sound, but a change had overtaken his prone form. He fell back limply as Demoman released him, and made no further movements. Demoman growled in frustration and rose to his feet, then backed towards his teammate. Through the darkness came Soldier's voice, hoarse with pain and suspicion. "He's dead, isn't he? Crazy son of a bitch..."

Demoman's frustration was urging at him to assault the Colonel further, as if desecrating a corpse might bring forth some answers, but he wasn t the Witch of Endor. The man who had killed so many mercenaries with such ease, and cheated death at the cost of Jane's life, was no longer a threat to the mission- or a source of knowledge about its true nature.

After staring at the body for a long moment, Demoman glanced back at Soldier and asked, "Can ye hang in there a moment? Ah'm goin' tae check his pockets."

There was no sudden movement from the corpse as Tavish kneeled, then began searching the dead man's clothes. The uncanny sense of foreboding had lifted from his psyche. Now he felt the natural unease of someone who has killed a dangerous animal, and is worried it might have one bite left for him. He found bottles of uppers and downers in the Colonel's pockets, along with an assortment of survival tools. No special key to his madness was there, no pocket diary filled with ravings nor a dog-eared copy of the Communist manifesto. Only one object among them seemed incongruous. In the man's breast pocket was a rolled-up belt of beaded fabric. A souvenir perhaps, now dull and tattered from its time spent in the filthy jungle.

(Bah, none of this tells me anything useful.) With no particular idea why, he stuffed the belt in his pocket next to the slain Demoman's insignia and rose to his feet. Although he was still angry at having another mystery dropped in his lap, he was also coming to terms with the Colonel's defeat... and more importantly, his own victory.

(I played that one brilliantly! He might have got the drop on me before, but I showed him how a highlander does it. It was the least I could do for the clansman he killed. You can rest now, lad, whoever you were...) The slain Demoman's memory troubled him, as well as Jane's sacrifice. Thoughts of the BLU Soldier roused a little optimism in his chest, though. All of the RED and BLU mercenaries the Colonel had killed were restored now, no doubt scrambling to secure transport back to the Caribbean. (The show must go on...)

Turning to face Soldier, Demoman shone some light on the wounded American. "Think ye can walk, mate?"

Soldier glared indignantly at his teammate. "Of course I can walk, Cyclops! Why wouldn't I be able to? I'm in perfect shape!" He rose up defiantly, then wavered and clutched the wall for support, gritting his teeth.

Fishing his dwindling supply of liquor out, Demoman took another slug of rum, and gave a satisfied sigh as heat ran through his weary limbs. "Well, we've still got tae find the others, and neither of us are gettin' any younger. Are ye certain you'll keep up with me on yer own, or will y'get down off your bloody high horse and let me give ye a hand?"

"Shit," Soldier groaned, and allowed Demoman to move into a supportive position. He was never eager to admit he was injured, let alone accept someone's help. Once the Scotsman had an arm across Soldier's back, they considered their next goal.

"Alright, we're in a bit of a bind. Ah dinnae know if that daft bugger was just babbling, but those gunshots we heard earlier were real as rain. Do ye reckon you'll be any good in a fight?" Demoman didn't want to abandon his teammate, even if their progress would be slower as a result. The situation elsewhere on the plantation was anyone's guess, but all was quiet, so he knew that they weren't missing out on a firefight.

Soldier seemed to feel the same. "We're closer to the heat than we are to Engie's gear. I say we continue the charge where we left off. There's more of these bastards around here, and someone's got to kill them! What's the best route out of here?"

"How in the blazes am Ah supposed tae know? This place is a bloody wreck, and- " For some inexplicable reason, Soldier seemed adamant that Demoman possessed an instinctive understanding of spooky mansions and castles. He didn't mull on it for more than a second, though. Gut instinct would just have to suffice in guiding them from the premises. "Bah, let's just go this way."

With one hand around a flashlight and the other on his teammate, Demoman led the two REDs down the staircase. The floodlight revealed an exit on the far side of the toppled bookshelves, so they moved around the edge of the destruction and left the great library to its single patron. The Colonel's life was a mystery that would probably never be uncovered, but his end brought peace to everyone he had attacked and killed. Death was what he wanted the most, and by crossing Tavish DeGroot, he had finally received his heart's desire.

* * *

For those mercenaries on the island who weren't in immediate danger, it seemed that having a moment's peace could be troublesome in other ways. Engineer's hike from the manor to the mess-hall had been sheer agony, draining every ounce of stamina he had left. Now that he was seated beside his ramshackle dispenser, with the soothing red plume to ease his physical pain, he found himself suffering another sort of discomfort.

"I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do," he muttered, setting down his shotgun and slouching back against a rickety folding chair. If Engineer had been certain of everything he was feeling, he wouldn't have any better a plan for the future than he did now. His mind was awash with confusion over what had happened, and what he had done. He and Sniper were something closer than friends, something more like lovers. That was undeniable. And Soldier... his feelings for Soldier were a little stronger than platonic. But could he fool around with two people, let alone two men? Should he? Would this break Sniper's heart if it was revealed, or ruin what he had with Soldier? Engineer's efforts to explain the day's events- and rationalize his actions- dissolved into a whirling mess of emotional uncertainty.

Engineer rubbed his eyelids for a moment and sighed. He realized that if anything was going to come of the incident, it wouldn't be in the next five minutes. Moping wouldn't change anything. He groaned and sagged his shoulders, listlessly peeling the gauze from his mended leg.

A crash came from the direction of the bombed-out wall, loud enough to be heard over the healing machine. Engineer promptly put aside his guilt for later. Lifting the shotgun, he wobbled to his feet and aimed his electric torch towards the debris, where the intruder had fallen. "Who's there? Put yer hands up right now, God-dammit, or I'll blow yer brains out the back side'a yer head!"

Before he could totally understand what was there, Engineer heard a weird sound from the shape on the ground. It was sort of a desperate, muffled scream. A moment later the shadow wriggled to an upright position, and he realized he was seeing a young man, kneeling and bound with duct tape. The youth stared at him with wide-eyed horror and vigorously shook his head of dark, greasy hair.

For a split second, Engineer felt a mix of amazement and heart wrenching pity for this hapless person. Then he remembered what his team was dealing with. There were no innocent bystanders stumbling through this warzone, and this boy could only be a Scout belonging to this renegade group. Shotgun in hand, Engineer left his light pointing on the scene and approached the newcomer.

He loomed over his prisoner, smiling faintly, feeling more than a little gratified by the terror he was inspiring. "Well now, what brings you here, boy? Ya lookin' for someone else? ...you can nod, y'know. I ain't takin' that tape off yer mouth until I've got a reason."

The kid looked at Engineer, then at the shotgun and the prosthesis that held it. He swallowed audibly, and bobbed his head nervously. The Texan chuckled. "I reckon you weren't expectin' to run into me, were ya?"

More head-bobbing. His eyes screwed up as he nodded, and fresh tears cleaned some of the dirt from his face.

Engineer had no immediate plan to kill the young man, but he decided to leave that information up in the air. He jiggled his shotgun a little, then grasped it comfortably. "Were you on the run from anyone, boy? Maybe some RED fellas?"

That was a "no". The kid's face twitched at mention of RED mercenaries, though. Engineer frowned, scratching his chin with his free hand and studying the youth more closely.

He wore plain shorts and a t-shirt that were stained with blood, mud and cobwebs. His tennis shoes were standard issue for a RED scout. The only wounds on him were fresh, probably incurred from traversing the grounds with duct tape around his knees. Higher up, his arms were affixed to his body, and more tape was balled over his right hand. The left one was gone, though- all that remained was a stump below the elbow. Engineer snatched up his dog-tags on a whim, and grinned. The word "Scout" had been scraped off, and on the reverse, someone had clumsily engraved the name "ANDY".

"So you're Andy, huh? Well, Andy, I'm sure you know a lot more about what's goin' on here than I do. I'm also sure that the moment I take that tape off yer mouth, you're gonna start cussin' up a blue streak and generally not sayin' anything useful ta me. So I think I'm gonna keep you nice and quiet fer now."

The boy only glared as his name was discovered, but he began shaking his head and bleating desperately when Engineer threatened to leave the tape on.

Regretting that it was too dark to keep his eyes concealed behind goggles, Engineer arched an eyebrow dramatically. "What was that, boy? Are you sayin' you'll answer my questions and mind yer language if I let ya talk? It'd be a shame if you said somethin' I'd hafta kill you for, but if you're on yer best behaviour..." Andy nodded eagerly, giving Engineer what was probably the most appealing look he was capable of.

Somewhere deep down, the Texan was prepared to regret this decision. There was more duct tape in his toolbox to correct things, if it came to that. He hauled Andy up to a standing position, then tore the lid off the boy's mouth.

"Ow, fuck!" Andy yelped, then gave a louder cry of pain as Engineer cuffed him upside the head. He staggered back, spitting obscenities and nearly tripping over some debris. The older man caught him and gave his shoulder an uncomfortable squeeze.

"Were you listening to me? I said it'll be a shame if I hafta kill ya, but it's somethin' I could manage." Engineer wasn't particularly surprised by the turn this was taking. With his shotgun propped against his hip, he gave Andy a look of deadly calm. "Now, are you gonna mind yer Ps and Qs, or will I be sendin' you home to yer momma in a pine box?"

Andy's face went pale, and he suddenly sagged in Engineer's grasp, groaning quietly as he was lowered to his knees. When he found his voice again, he mumbled, "Sorry... sorry, sorry."

"You just get yer act together, and get ready for some walkin'. My teammates are somewhere in that death-trap you fellas call a base, and we're gonna go find them." His time under the healing ray had restored a little of Engineer's patience along with his health, but he wasn't prepared to go easy on the kid. Considering the circumstances, his shotgun would be a better negotiating tool than kind words. Those could wait until the fighting was over.

Out of the blue, Andy spoke. "They're in the greenhouse."

"What?" Engineer was caught off-guard. He tried to make sense of these words, to figure out if it was a lie.

Andy looked sullenly at the floor, and elaborated on his story. "The greenhouse at the back of the mansion? That's where they were gonna go. They probably wanna kill Tex. The Australian guy told me to split. He said the rest of his team would kill me if they found me."

(Sniper's survived this long? He's still here?) Engineer's heart seemed to skip a beat. He thanked the powers that be for the darkness; his face was undoubtedly turning a little red at this news. After a few stuttering false starts, he realized it would be best to share as little as possible with the renegade. "Well then, it looks like we're goin' there first. ...on yer feet, boy."

As Andy struggled to rise, Engineer dashed back to his toolbox and retrieved the duct tape. After stuffing that in a pack, he took his flashlight as well and returned to the prisoner. "We ain't in no hurry here, so you're gonna lead the way for me. As long as you mind yer manners and remember who's in charge, I won't have any reason to play rough."

"Don't kill me," Andy mumbled, cringing as Engineer's shotgun jabbed the small of his back. They started from the mess hall, moving at the bound scout's pace. "I'll sing for you, j-just don't kill me..."

Although he was desperate to know about Sniper's condition- not to mention, the condition of everyone else who was with the sharpshooter- Engineer decided to pry for some strategic information first. "Alright, how's about ya explain what's going on here? You can start by tellin' me how many of you folks are left."

As the two mercenaries travelled once more along that darkened road, the jungle night deepened all around them. For all Engineer knew, his captive bird was spinning a long string lies, but Andy's unfolding story corroborated with everything he knew. By the time they reached the massive building his mind was abuzz with questions, and more than a little pique for the people who dropped him and his teammates in the middle of all this.

Overpowering that, however, was Engineer's curiosity. After very carefully making his way in through the broken window, he dragged Andy in after him, then set the boy on his feet and asked, "Why don't y'tell me everything you know about that door you mentioned?" Something caused the Scout to cringe. His expression, maybe? He knew he could get carried away sometimes. But Andy clearly didn't understand the meaning of the graven letters he had described- "R.C."

Engineer did. He was consumed with desire again, and this time, it was the kind that had never left him hurt and confused.


	17. Ulterior Motives

(_ Author's note: During my single visit to the Caribbean nation of Grenada, I saw few regular buses. The roads on that island alternated between winding switchbacks in the mountains, and narrow streets in towns which pre-dated automobile traffic. Most people drove small cars, and public transit was in the form of vans._

_Anyone who's read the story this far is probably hard to offend, but just to offer forwarning to those with delicate sensibilities, there's some crude humour involving a pee break. Also, a brief scene of gay romance. No sex, though._ )

* * *

Fifteen minutes after touchdown, RED Spy had navigated customs like a swift specter and was riding what passed as public transit in the lesser Antilles. It was a shabby van, worse than his Sniper's own vehicle, but it would have to do. Even he would admit that the narrow mountain roads and colonial-era settlements of the Caribbean nation made limousines and buses a tricky prospect. On reaching the hotel that served as his team's mission control, he paid off the driver in American currency, then hurried to the back lot where the helicopters were.

He was startled to see a large vehicle in the lot, refueling alongside a single RED Team Huey. The newcomer was a sleek aircraft, painted in dark purple and accented with white racing stripes. Twin jet engines in free-moving nacelles powered the beast. Spy was no mechanical genius, but he assumed they could be tilted for vertical or horizontal thrust, which would explain how the plane had wound up in a secluded parking lot. Just studying it sent an uncomfortable twinge down his spine. (My God, it can't be...)

During the trip, Spy had entertained thoughts of checking the penthouse where the others might have left information on their plans. This discovery threw everything out the window, though. Moving as fast as he could without running, he crossed the lot to where the vehicles were and began looking for someone with answers.

Deep down, there was really only one person who fit that description. Swallowing his pride and his natural fear of dismemberment, he strode right past the jet's ground crew and up its aluminium gangway, then tested the door.

(Damn, it's locked.) Ignoring the men below who were beginning to give him suspicious looks, Spy sighed and resorted to knocking. At length, the door was answered by a dark-haired woman and her handgun. She looked surprised to see him. Feeling reluctant to take another bullet, Spy sought to disarm her with his usual charm. "Ah, Miss Pauling! It is wonderful to see you on zis fine evening, ma cherie. Whatever brings you 'ere? ...and your boss, I presume?"

Miss Pauling turned a little pink and managed sort of a smile. She lowered the gun, but didn't holster it just yet. "Oh, I- well, it- it's Mann Company business. Mister Hale is busy in Canada right now, taking part in the Annual Toronto Polar Bear Hunt, so the Administrator came as a representative of the company..."

From somewhere out of view, Spy heard a sharp and disapproving sound of throat-clearing. "Miss Pauling, don't tell the man anything he doesn't need to know. Spy, I would order you shot for this intrusion if I weren't too busy to have my aircraft cleaned."

A long moment passed where he and the younger woman stood in place, unmoving. As a matter of fact, Spy was certain Miss Pauling wasn't breathing, either. At length, the Administrator gave a disgusted sigh that was audible from the doorway. "Considering the changes that have taken place in the field, I suppose he ought to receive a copy of the mercenaries' revised orders. Miss Pauling, give him the file."

"Please wait here a moment, sir." Miss Pauling turned her attention to Spy for a second, just long enough to give him a pleading look. He knew that one. That was her "please don't make me shoot you" look. Then she disappeared into the airplane. Although he was severely tempted to cloak himself and sneak inside, Spy knew he'd never get away with it.

At least the Administrator ran a tight ship. Spy only waited a few seconds before Miss Pauling returned with a manila folder, and handed it over. "Thank you ever so much, mademoiselle," he purred. "Do give my regards to our lovely and gracious Administrator."

She smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the Administrator. "You're not being paid to insult my intelligence with meaningless words, Spy. You have your new orders. Miss Pauling, close the cabin door."

Spy took a step back, and saved the end of his nose from being smashed by the door. Concealing his weariness, he adopted a confident posture and made his way from the jet, waiting until he was well away from the fuel lines before lighting a fresh cigarette. With his nicotine levels returning to normal, he turned to his next important task.

In the shelter of the machine shop's doorway, Spy began to read his new orders. When he opened the folder, his first impulse was to return to the jet and start looking for the means to sneak on board. His mouth drew itself into a thin, frustrated line, and he cursed under his breath. The message read:

TF INDUSTRIES EXECUTIVE ORDER - LEVEL A

AS OF 2200 HOURS A.S.T., ALL RED AND BLU UNITS IN THE CARIBBEAN ARE ORDERED TO CEASE FIRE AND HOLD POSITION UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE FROM THE ADMINISTRATOR'S OFFICE. RED AND BLU HELICOPTERS WILL REMAIN GROUNDED AT THIS TIME. THESE ORDERS WILL BE RELAYED TO ALL FORCES A.S.A.P.

ANY MERCENARIES ENGAGING IN HOSTILITIES WITH ONE ANOTHER IN KNOWLEDGABLE VIOLATION OF THIS DIRECTIVE WILL BE SUBJECT TO EXTREME DISCIPLINARY MEASURES, UP TO AND INCLUDING TERMINATION. DISMISSAL OF CONTRACT MAY ALSO BE CONSIDERED.

"Shit!" Spy hissed, re-reading the words a few times for good measure. They were enlightening, at least. More so in regards to what he could glean from them, than what was openly said. (There's only one reason I can think of that we would be ordered to stop fighting each other: she must be preparing to move in. Could the men who turned traitor be dead now? I would assume as much, given this turn of events. Anyone who wound up in respawn won't be getting back there soon... I wonder if my teammates were able to claim the prize, or if the BLUs managed to make a comeback?)

Over by the Administrator's jet, Spy could see the ground crew milling about. Schemes for infiltrating the craft whirled like dead leaves in his mind, but he dismissed them as overly risky. He was confident that lives didn't depend on him, even though remaining at mission control made him angrier than he would have liked.(There is simply no way I can go there now. No way that wouldn't get me fired, or worse.)

The thought of staggering to his hotel room and catching up on sleep was attractive to Spy, but even in his current state of exhaustion, he knew he wouldn't find rest. There were too many unanswered questions on his mind. He decided instead to risk the cantina, then see what information he might find in the team's penthouse suite. Between the teletype and the phone, he could find out how many of his teammates were still in the field, and what the chances were that they had secured the Administrator's property.

Whatever the hell that was.

* * *

Standing in the conservatory's open doorway, Scout was feeling unnerved. A night breeze rushed past him into the glass enclosure, needed by the men inside its walls to cool the choking atmosphere. Sweat was creeping down his whole body. As he peered into the darkness beyond the reach of those sweltering lamps, it was hard to suppress his fear of the unknown. He knew there were eyes on him. Sniper was diligently watching, given that the man had refused to let Scout leave his sight. The shadows of the manor's overgrown garden seemed to stare as well, filling Scout with more self-conscious dread than he would have felt if a whole crowd of snipers was examining his every move.

The Australian's hoarse drawl erupted from somewhere behind him, breaking his concentration. "For Christ's sake, would you hurry up and get back here?"

Scout grimaced. This was no place to be taking a leak. Glancing back over his shoulder, he exclaimed, "Sh-shut up! I know you're happy pissin' all over the place, but normal people need a little peace an' quiet for this! It ain't like we've got somewhere else ta be." Doing his best to ignore the sensation that a thousand cameras were aimed at him, he waited for a lull in the wind. It was awkward enough to stand in plain sight, with a gun in one hand and his dick in the other. The last thing he wanted right now was to piss all over his shoes because of a badly timed breeze.

(I could get stabbed in the back over here,) he thought dismally. Could the BLU Spy be right behind him at this very moment? Would Sniper be able to pick the guy off if he suddenly decloaked? Scout realized his teammate would have to be pointing a gun at his back for that. None of these thoughts made it any easier to do what he came for. Knowing that he had no other way to do this, Scout tried to clear his mind of all but the most encouraging images. (Come on, I've gotta get this over with. Think, stupid! Rain spouts, rivers, waterfalls, fuckin' fire hoses...) As his mind shifted to neutral gear, Scout could finally get down to business.

He was finished and doing up his fly when he heard sounds coming from the thick foliage that surrounded on him on every side. His blood ran cold. Before he even had time to start analyzing what he'd heard, the youth gave a whoop of panic and scrambled back into the conservatory, ducking down beside the open door with his gun ready.

On the other side of the room, Sniper had reacted instantly. He was crouched down now, rifle in hand, squinting at the darkness outside. "What is it? Who's there?" he hissed.

"I- I dunno, I heard somethin'! There's people out there, or- or- " Scout suddenly felt uncertain. Were there other large animals on the island? He should have asked beforehand. More noises came from outside, rustling foliage and the scuffing of shoes. Muttered conversation came to his ears; the words were unclear, but they sounded tense, even aggressive. "I can hear 'em comin' through the bushes."

Throughout all this, Tex worked on at the mainframe's console, ignoring the heat and danger around him. With machines running in either direction, maybe it was just too noisy over there for him to hear anything else. Either that, or the man was thoroughly entranced with his work.

Sniper growled, creeping over to join his teammate. He crouched alongside a table, his sharp eyes flickering back and forth in search of the approaching group. Then, to Scout's surprise, he shouted at the intruders. "Who's there? I know you're headed this way. Ya'd best speak up before I start shooting!"

A beam of light pierced the foliage, streaking across Sniper's face. Someone answered from the shadows. "Sniper? Izzat you, stretch?" It was the RED team's Engineer, of all people.

Scout and Sniper stared in the direction his voice had come from, eyes wide with shock. In his typical eloquent style, the youth blurted out, "Holy shit! Get in here, man!" Scout saw two shapes move past the window. There were quiet sounds of scuffling and an angry grunt, then someone he'd hoped to never see again came staggering through the door, propelled by a boot to the backside. Rising from the floor, he groaned angrily. "Aww, fuck. What the hell are you doing here, Andy?"

Andy glowered and opened his mouth, but was menaced by Engineer's free hand and clammed up. Sniper moved up between them. His heart gave a painful contraction, then he wrapped his long arms around the Texan, squeezing him tightly. It was surprising to see such a display of emotion from the sharpshooter. The only sober person Scout had ever seen greet a teammate that way was Heavy. Engineer had a shotgun in his creepy robot hand hand, but he reached up and patted Sniper's back with the real one, murmuring to his friend in a tone of relief. When they parted from their embrace, the taller man was bit teary-eyed.

Feeling weirdly embarrassed, Scout looked away from the scene. (He must have been freaked out, too. Maybe he was just holding it inside until now. It s probably normal to crack a little, when you've been through so much in one day.) As his eyes began stinging, Scout winced and tried to think of manlier things.

Engineer gave a strange laugh. "How long've ya folks been standin' around in this furnace? Ya smell pretty terrible, if you don't mind me sayin'." He paused, staring at Sniper s thin lips. There was a long moment where the two men gazed at one another, seemingly on the verge of doing or saying something, yet holding back. Then Engineer broke the spell with a regretful sound, shaking his head as if it were a struggle to keep it in the present. Ya look parched. Here, have some water... Where'd Spy creep off to?"

Scout looked back to see Sniper drinking from a metal flask. When he was finished, he pushed it into the boy's hands and panted breathlessly. Realizing how close he was to suffering heat exhaustion, Scout drank deeply as well, and let his travelling companion do the talking. Even the canteen was cool to the touch, and the water inside was wonderfully cold.

Sniper wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're a lifesaver, mate. Ah God, I needed that... I'm not sure where to begin with everything that's happened. It's a long story. Spy's been gone since the morning. He got himself mangled saving my skin." He was quiet, his expression troubled. Questions came faster to him than answers though, and he perked up after a moment. "But what about you and the others? Were the rest of the choppers able ta make it safely? And how'd ya get here, did that loudmouthed runt lead you to us?"

"I reckon that's too long a story for me ta sum it up in a few words, too," Engineer sighed. His eyes were suddenly on Scout, cool and stern. "You should ve given Medic and Heavy a little more warning before you ran off, boy. They were in dire straits when we found 'em."

It would have been easier to make a rude retort if someone was yelling at him, but Scout had a hard time finding words to justify his actions. Before he had a chance to put his foot in his mouth, Andy cut in. "Hey, did that BLU motherfucker get himself bumped off?"

Engineer raised a hand to silence the older boy, then stopped dead. "Wait, who? I thought we killed all of them."

"Dere's a reason I'm laying low," grunted an irate voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. He was probably hunkered down behind cover, where even the faint mirage of his cloaked body would be hidden. On hearing him, Sniper frowned at the mostly empty space.

Engineer bristled with anger and confusion. "What're ya doin' here, ya son of a bitch?"

"I don't think he'd be foolhardy enough to try jumping us now. Scout's got his gun, and he's outnumbered." The Australian eyed the room warily for a moment, then groaned and rubbed his forehead. "We were, uh, sort of cooperating."

"What?" Engineer was aghast at the news. There was marked frustration in his tone. Scout didn't see him show his mean streak very often, and it was a little worrisome.

Sniper was eager to smooth things out. He hastened to explain himself. "It's not like I was keen on the idea, but we... Ya must've run into some of the other men here, right? He had us at gunpoint, and... here, I'll take it from the top."

"I'm listenin'," the mechanic growled, preserving his furious expression for the time being.

As Sniper explained their situation, the group settled down near the door. A breeze kept the temperature from becoming utterly intolerable. There wasn't much to the story that Scout hadn't personally experienced, although he made a mental note to needle RED Spy for being disarmed while asleep. Around the time that the Australian began describing their first visit to the conservatory, Engineer sprang to his feet, as though he were suddenly remembering something important.

"Wait just a darned minute. Is that it over there? The Conagher door?" He pointed towards the alcove, as if noticing it for the first time. Before anyone could answer, Engineer was already running off with manic fervor, leaving his teammates to stare in confusion.

"Hold on! There's still- " Sniper took off after him, yelling broken warnings about Tex. The two engineers spotted each other and a loud discussion ensued, but Scout couldn't hear all of it for the machinery.

Andy tentatively started to follow, and the RED Scout felt a jolt of something that was sort of like concern. "You know that Tex guy's crazy as a shithouse rat, right? He shot your Medic when we got here. He'll probably waste you too, if he notices you're still alive."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about, fa- holy shit, is that Ruprecht?" Horror crept over Andy's face as he spotted the doctor's body, stiffening in a puddle of congealed blood. Ruprecht's expression spoke volumes about the moment of his demise, his mouth and eyes gaping in a permanent look of betrayal.

Letting out a sound that was somewhere between sobbing and retching, Andy turned away from the scene and sank to his knees. Scout couldn t restrain himself from laughing sadistically at his counterpart's distress. He held Engineer's canteen close and watched the others, waiting to see if gunfire would break out.

An ear-splitting screech cut through the air, like a bandsaw hitting a nail. Scout felt his heart jerk painfully. He flew up off the floor, looking around in a panic. His alarm turned to disbelief when the feedback was followed by a woman's voice- one that was cold, crisp and formal.

Spoken demands were coming from above his head, like a malevolent goddess was rebuking him. "For those of you who may have forgotten whom I am, this is your Administrator speaking. I have just confirmed that all hostile units on the plantation are neutralized. A cessation of combat between RED and BLU forces was ordered two and a half hours ago. As I have my personal operatives moving into the area right now, I expect you all to follow this directive. Disobey me and your lives will come to a violent end, as well as your careers."

The P.A. system hadn't been removed from the island... among things. What other devices might still be around, extending Her voice and senses to this remote place? Scout forgot his earlier caution and hurried to join his teammates, dragging Andy behind him. "How does she know all this shit?" he asked once he knew he was in earshot of the other men. Engineer was the first person he would have questioned, but his egghead was down by the sealed door, fawning over it.

Tex was the one who answered, not bothering to looking up from his work. "Respawn'll still catch y'all out here. Think that's the only thing with a long reach? A lot of the equipment from before got fried, but there's working sensors, a few cameras in the old bases. Enough for her ta know who's alive and who's dead, including my team. Figures they'd cut us off from respawn, but still wanna keep tabs on who still has a pulse. We probably all have tracking chips implanted in us, or somethin'." He glanced over his shoulder for a second, an enigmatic look on his face. "I reckon the message I just sent must've been the last thing she was waitin' for."

Scout said the first thing that came to mind. "What'd you tell her?"

The maverick's demeanor unnerved Scout, and he wasn't alone. Andy was regarding Tex with fear. Sniper was standing in the wings with a very large knife, his body tensed like a sprinter at the starting line. Apparently ignorant of all this, Tex had busied himself with the mainframe, which was emitting a printed strip of paper. "Two things. First, that I'm ready ta pop the cork on this thing. Second, that Andy's been located, and won't be causin' any trouble for anyone. Now, if you'll step aside for a moment..."

This day was turning out to be one of endless new experiences for Scout. Tex was reaching for that murderous revolver. An unexpected wave of guilt swept over Scout, and he felt compelled to stand between Andy and mortal danger. There was no doubt in either boy's mind as to what the rogue Engineer was preparing to do. Choking back an anxious knot in his throat, he stuttered, "F-for God's sake, he's your fuckin' teammate! We've got him tied up. He ain't goin' anywhere. Just let the company decide what to do with him!"

Had he been alone, Scout realized, it wasn't likely he could have dissuaded Tex from killing his cowering counterpart. Not while his own weapon was stuffed into the back of his waistband, at any rate. But Sniper was prowling nearby, ready to throw his weight around if things got dicey. Tex must have had the same thought, because he took the time to eyeball Sniper as he turned away from the mainframe. Tex was fairly burly, but days on end spent in this room had taken a toll on his health. Sniper loomed over him, and had only spent two days running on fumes. If it came down to a quick-draw, Sniper would slit Tex's throat before he could pull his Colt SAA on the two Scouts.

That was the highest probability outcome. Tex smoothly lifted his hand away from his holster, and regarded the men around him with inscrutable dark lenses. "Well, ah reckon they'll kill him eventually. I ain t gonna waste the energy ta do it myself." Tex turned his attention to the computer print-out, and the tension in the air waned.

"I think we oughta go wait by the exit," Scout said, feeling his nerves settle down. He could see that Sniper was itching to get away from there as well, but something was making the Australian hesitate.

Then he spoke. "Right, you take the other lad. I'll be along once I've collected Truckie there; he seems to have gone head-over-heels for that puzzle door." There was a weird anxiousness about his behavior that Scout couldn't quite identify, something in his voice and the way he gazed forlornly at their Texan teammate. The heat and noise in the area were enough to drive off all but the most determined, though, and the younger RED didn't feel compelled to linger.

While ushering Andy back to the door, Scout was startled to notice someone standing there. "Who the fuck-" he gasped. He had his hand on the back of his gun before he realized it was the lone BLU agent. Spy stood by the open doorway, and watched him with feline calm. Scout was tempted to haul off and shoot the guy anyways. (On the other hand, that bitch threatened to kill anyone who breaks the ceasefire. She's pretty good at keeping promises like that. Even if that spy's a total asshole, he didn't try to shank us while he was hiding. Maybe he's braver than I thought...or maybe his invisibility watch broke.)

Scout found himself regretting his self-restraint when they got near. The Canadian's first words to him were, "Give back my gun."

"I dunno, man, I'm startin' to feel attached to this thing. It's cooler lookin' than my Walther. You can get a new one, can't ya?" He grinned, but Spy didn't seem to appreciate his sense of humor. After weathering the evil eye for a few seconds, Scout sighed and relinquished Spy's weapon. "Alright, alright. Fuck, you've gotta learn to lighten up."

BLU Spy tucked his Browning into the concealment holster strapped across his chest. The heat had finally forced him to abandon his pinstriped jacket, and Scout caught an unwanted glimpse of sweat-stained underarms on his white shirt. "I hope I don't have much reason to say dis, but don't try anyt'ing funny wit' me."

Being told what to do or not to do always grated at Scout. "Are you fuckin' deaf? The lady said horrible shit would happen if we went after each other right now. Me? I'm gonna take it easy over here where I won't die of heat stroke."

With that, Scout plunked himself down in the path of that night breeze, and groaned wearily. Andy had already sat on the floor, his back slouched against the wall. He seemed too scared and exhausted to give his captors any lip, which was alright by Scout. Under normal circumstances, neither boy would have been satisfied sitting still for long, but little about the present situation was normal.

As Scout lazily watched the twisting smoke plume from Spy's cigarette, a distant mechanical screech caught his ear. "Hey... does that sound like a jet goin' overhead? I thought people didn't fly around here. They said there was somethin' kinda'... y'know, Bermuda Triangle bullshitty about this place."

* * *

Despite being deep inside the mansion, Demoman and Soldier were close enough to a window that they heard the Administrator's message. Similarly, the aircraft was so loud that nobody could have missed its descent. Illuminating the ground below with floodlights, it circled the plantation in a manner far too slow for a regular jet. Engineer would have been fascinated by such an advanced piece of technology, if he hadn't been busy with the mystery door. As far as the other mercenaries were concerned, they might well have been seeing a goddamned UFO. Even Sniper forgot his self-imposed vigil and stared up through the glass ceiling, utterly confounded by the vehicle passing overhead.

When the aircraft came around for a second pass, it lit up the garden, revealing a swath of scorched earth between the manor and the burgeoning jungle. This had been visible by day, of course, but Sniper hadn't thought much of it at the time. Now a screaming beast of a machine was lowering itself down onto the impromptu landing pad, buffeting the conservatory with hurricane-force winds. The entire structure consisted of glass panes in a corroded metal frame, and the overgrown ivy did little to hold it all together. Sniper saw how the antique structure was rattling, and suddenly felt his stomach doing cartwheels.

Hoping desperately that he would be heard by the others, he raised his voice and bellowed, "Get the hell outta here, Scout! Spy! Move it!" A second later, he realized what he'd just said. (Wait, Spy? When did he stop hiding?) It didn't look like BLU Spy and Scout had been fighting, at least. They were braced against one another, both struggling to stand fast against the gale. Then a window came loose and narrowly missed the Canadian, only to shatter against the floor and shower both men with razor-sharp fragments. Thoroughly spooked, they scrambled out into the yard and left Andy to cower under a table.

Glass sheets came flying at the room's remaining occupants, exploding like bombs as they struck machinery and the tile floor. Sniper would have taken cover as well and waited out the storm, but the third RED was still down by the sealed door, which wasn't completely out of harm's way. He couldn't abandon his friend.

Another window pane hit the computer and sent a burst of gleaming shrapnel at Sniper, but his reflexes were quicker. He reacted instantly, shielding his eyes with his left forearm and turning away. Dozens of vitreous fangs tore into him, and he hissed in pain, hoping that none of the bits had embedded themselves too deeply. With no time to lose, Sniper ran for the alcove. Even before he reached the bottom of the stairs, he knew something was wrong.

RED Engineer was curled up between the door and the wall, surrounded by broken glass and blood. A spasm of fear ran through Sniper's body, and he lunged down the last few steps to investigate. Then the sound of the Texan cursing reached his ears, and he realized things might not be as bad as they looked. He crouched down and draped himself over Engineer's back, trying to shield the smaller man from further injury. There was movement beneath him as his presence was noted, but before either mercenary could speak, something shattered overhead and rained debris onto Sniper. A blood-slicked hand clamped down onto one of his, squeezing desperately.

"Jumped-up Jesus Christ on a fire engine! What's happening out there?" Engineer shouted. There was anger in his voice, but when he turned his head to look at Sniper, other emotions were clearly wrestling for control of his expression.

Up in the room behind them, sounds of flesh-rending peril were mellowing out into a more pedestrian sort of chaos. The pitch of the jet engines was changing, deepening. There was still enough of a gale coming into the conservatory to send bits of debris careening about the floor, but it seemed the threat had passed. Tex could be heard wrestling with something heavy and swearing, but the renegade was low on Sniper's list of concerns.

"Are you badly hurt?" Sniper began patting around Engineer s body, trying to locate the bleeding areas with his hands. Either a flying bloody saucer's landed outside, or it's the people our Administrator sent. There was... Christ, I don't know what sort of airplane that is, but it blew half the windows loose from this fucking place. Pretty sure you noticed that part."

"It's okay! It's okay. Just a small cut." Engineer smiled sheepishly, grabbing onto Sniper s fussing mitts. "Funny how blood can get all over the place. What about you, Mundy? Think I'm seein' a couple pieces of glass in yer hair..."

"I reckon I've got a bit stuck in my scalp. Bah, I must look a proper mess right now. There's scratches all over me." Sniper gingerly tugged a shard from his left forearm, then his gaze met Engineer's. Pleasant emotions welled up inside his weary body, and he forgot the pain.

Ducking closer to the other man, he pressed a clumsy kiss against his lover's temple. It was a simple gesture, just a love token delivered on the sly. Engineer gave a soft murmur and wriggled around until he was facing Sniper, then wrapped his arms around the lanky gunman.

This affected Sniper in ways he never expected, as though a violent chemical reaction had taken place within him. He clutched at Engineer for support, suddenly trembling, his heart aching terribly. Every cell in his body screamed as though he were suffering some sort of drug withdrawal. Sniper was alone with Engineer for the first time in days, and his pent-up feelings of lust and tenderness were clawing to be let out of their cage.

The beast could not go free, not here or now. Sniper knew it. Engineer, whose expression had turned to desperate longing, knew it too. In a quiet voice he soothed the Australian, gently patting the small of his back. "There, now. I know what you're feeling, darlin'... Lord knows how bad I wanna' get away from here, and have some peace and quiet with you..."

"Yeah," Sniper muttered, smiling weakly. He rubbed warm tears from his cheek, leaving bloody streaks in their place. "Christ. When this is over, I- I don't know if the first thing I'll need is a good hard fuck or a long cry."

Engineer couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's words. "Whooo-ee... It's definitely been one of those missions, hasn't it?" He pushed a wayward strand of dark hair from his friend s face. We need a plan, right? How 'bout this: We buy a couple six-packs from the canteen, then head on up ta my room and run a bath... yeahh, a cold beer and a warm bath, that sounds like a good start. Once we get to rubbin' each other, I'm gonna-"

The Administrator's voice intruded on their conversation, prompting both men to freeze. "I see that at least some of you oafs are capable of following my instructions. Excellent. Let's see your weapons now, shall we? Miss Pauling will take them, just to ensure nobody experiences a lapse of judgment." Something about her tone and volume was different this time. Sniper was shocked when he realized what had changed. This announcement hadn't been issued over the P.A. system- he was only hearing her from one direction.

"Jesus Christ, she's here!" he hissed. His mind boggled at what this could mean. The Administrator never deigned to appear in the field, after all.

A low whistle was the only sound from Engineer; clearly, he was thinking the same things as Sniper. Whatever secret lurked behind that door, it was going to be something big.

They reluctantly disentangled themselves and made their way back up the stairs, picking small shards of glass from their hides. The conservatory was blindingly bright, courtesy of the VTL jet's floodlights; Engineer pulled his goggles back on to get a better look around, but Sniper could only squint. (Scout made it out in one piece, he's got to be nearby. Where is that woman?) There was no doubt in his mind that the Administrator was taking control of the situation. It would have been a load off his back, but he was not the type to gladly leave his welfare in the hands of the authorities, especially when "the authorities" consisted of a chain-smoking megalomaniac.

The lights dimmed somewhat, and Sniper could finally make out his surroundings. It looked like a war zone. After surviving decades of neglect, the conservatory had been abruptly denuded of more than half its glass panes. This was actually a change for the better, aside from the murderous debris; a wonderful night breeze was sweeping into the room now, as a result of which the choking heat had lifted. Tex's sodium lamps had been ruined during the bombardment, as well as his mainframe, which contributed further to improving the atmosphere. (Too bad about all the bloody broken glass.)

Tex had survived, of course. He was clutching the computer's last print-off against his chest with a look of manic protectiveness. Sniper was more concerned with the people filing into the room. First came the Administrator, accompanied by Miss Pauling and a group of burly men in black riot armor. They were her personal bodyguards, each one armed with a Mossberg 500. Scout and BLU Spy took up the rear; the former shuffled like a kid on the way to detention, while the latter moved with as much composure as could reasonably be expected of him. Being made to disarm had probably been a blow to their morale- Miss Pauling was now carrying Scout's Force-a-Nature, and her pockets bulged with more confiscated equipment.

"Think they want us to put our hands up?" Engineer muttered, then cackled a little too loudly. He and Sniper had too much dignity for that, obviously.

The Administrator must have known this as well. She cleared her throat pointedly, nodding to her assistant. "Your weapons, gentlemen? Hand them over. That includes you, Mister Tex."

Looking a tad nervous, Miss Pauling approached the men. Sniper wouldn't have harmed her, of course- not even to spite their employer- and he gave up his armaments with a rueful smirk. "Right, I know when ta stand down. Careful with that knife, miss. It was a present from one of my mates."

Next to disarm was Engineer, who even managed a touch of politeness for the tiny woman. He gestured as if tipping his helmet, although it was missing from his head. Tex didn't seem nearly as eager to cooperate, but with so many guns aimed at him, there was nothing he could do but relinquish his Colt SAA. Miss Pauling returned to the Administrator's side, still fumbling to safely carry all of the guns and knives she'd been given.

"Take those weapons to the aircraft before you drop them, Miss Pauling," the older woman said tersely. Then she smiled ever so faintly, and turned her attention to the remaining mercenaries. "Now that I know you'll be on your best behavior, I want all of you trained monkeys to wait outside. I'll deal with you shortly... Mister Tex, you may now open the vault for us. I wish to assess its contents and see how it compares to Mann Company records."

"Wait a damn minute!" Engineer blurted. Everyone stopped in their tracks and stared at him. He had the expression of a child who had just been told Christmas was canceled. "We've been through ten different kinds of hell today, and it was all because of that locked door! I don't care about the monetary value of whatever's inside there, but I damn well wanna see what it is! Besides, if old man Conagher left some of his work in that vault, you're gonna need all the help you can get in understanding it!"

Behind the group of bodyguards, Sniper could see his youngest teammate staring in disbelief. Scout was probably amazed to see the soft-spoken Texan raising a fuss. It wasn't such a surprise for the sharpshooter, who had more experience with the nuances of Engineer's personality. Another man might have been silenced by the Administrator's withering glare, but the RED team's mechanic could be fantastically stubborn, particularly when being denied something he believed he had rights to. The one thing in the world that inspired mania within him was knowledge.

It was times like this that he seemed less like a warm, friendly little cowpoke, and more like a mad scientist. After all, knowledge was power in the right hands. More than anyone else on the team, Engineer had the know-how and the inclination to turn knowledge into something dangerous.

The silence that followed was deafening. Sniper felt anxiety gnaw at him while he glanced between his friend and the woman in charge. Despite the gang of armed men who could be ordered to attack at any moment, Engineer's determined countenance did not recede. Somewhere deep inside, Sniper found himself hoping the Texan would back down, and grimaced at the sense of betrayal this brought him. (No, I can't tell him to forget about this. He obviously feels that it's bloody important. I have to stand by his side and just hope that woman doesn't decide to have him gunned down.)

A queer expression had taken hold of the Administrator's face. Much to the group's surprise, she smirked. "Very well. You may accompany us. Given your background and education, I'm confident that you are smart enough to keep your hands off the merchandise unless I tell you otherwise."

Relief wafted over Sniper like a cool breeze. (That went better than I expected.) He patted his teammate's shoulder, which earned him a goofy grin. Engineer didn't go do far as to dance for joy, but he was clearly happy to have his way. On the other hand, Tex seemed less than ecstatic to have a second mechanic along for the ride.

As the Administrator's entourage set off for their prize, the remaining mercenaries shuffled out into the garden. Sniper sat down near the aircraft, where the lights were strong enough to work by. He fished through his rucksack for tweezers and cigarettes. Scout joined him, flopping down on the grass and curling up in the hopes of catching some much-needed rest. With an attitude of trepidation, Andy eventually crept from the shadows and settled nearby. The BLU agent kept to himself, though, and remained close to the door.

An indeterminable stretch of time passed, in which Sniper picked his hide free of glass and smoked in peace. Once or twice, he saw Miss Pauling watching them from the jet's open hatch. At some point, Scout started to whimper unconsciously. Sniper moved closer and placed a calming hand on the boy's shoulder, murmuring, "It's over... Easy now. You just rest, mate." The marksman didn't know if Scout was awake to any extent, but he wriggled up against his older teammate and finally relaxed a bit. On his other side, Andy could be heard snoring.

Sniper himself was drifting in and out, when a sharp sound caught his ear. Then another, and another. The noise wasn't loud, but even half asleep, he understood what it meant: trouble. Struggling to shake off his exhaustion, Sniper opened his eyes wide and turned them sharply towards the conservatory. His investigations revealed nothing. Everyone had descended the stairs in the alcove, and vanished into the manor's mysterious heart. He did see Spy, though, who was striding quickly towards the jet with a tense look on his face.

The Canadian craned his neck, and shouted to the aircraft's occupants. "Miss Pauling! Get out here, I know you can hear me!"

The two scouts began to stir, emitting groans of protest as they grimaced and blinked owlishly. Sniper was completely awake now. He crouched down by Andy and took out a small utility knife, then began cutting away the duct tape from the youth's right hand. As he did this, all of his attention was on the exchange between Spy and the bespectacled woman.

Without any explanation, she appeared by the hatch and threw something to Spy: his Cloak and Dagger. "You'll need this! Wait, I've got some more things. Are Sniper and those boys still here?" She didn't seem to be in a panic, but her tone hinted that she might be close to one. When Sniper paused his cutting and looked up, his gaze met hers. Then she disappeared again, presumably to retrieve their equipment.

"What the fuck?" Scout was on his feet now, fidgeting like a kid in a long bathroom queue. He gave Sniper a double-take. "Hey, are you sure about cuttin' him loose, man?"

"He owes us," Sniper grunted, peeling the last of the tape from Andy's remaining hand. The dark-haired lad was dumbstruck by this turn of events- or perhaps he was just keeping his mouth shut, so Sniper wouldn't have any reason to change mind. "Besides, we might need an extra body. Th' worst he might do is run off, and considering the Administrator and her posse are RIGHT HERE on this bloody island, he's probably figured out that he's safer with us."

Scout squinted his eyes. "Okay, I get that, but why are we f-"

"Scout!" Miss Pauling cut in, looking down on the group with a duffel bag in her arms. He perked up right away, flashing his most charming smile and smoothing his hair back. Before he could start hitting on her, she exclaimed, "Catch!", and threw the pack to him. "There are weapons in there for all of you!"

Spy cleared his throat audibly, an impatient frown tugging at his face. "I assume I wasn't just imagining t'ings when I heard guns going off inside da building?"

"I don't know how it started, but that's right- sounds of gunfire came in over the radio, and I lost contact with the Administrator! I need you guys to investigate the situation. There's a new headset in there for Scout, I'll keep in touch through that. There could be casualties in there, so please! Hurry!"

"Alright," Andy said, a definite tremble in his voice. He couldn't use a scattergun, but the pack had an extra Shortstop for him. Looking up at Miss Pauling, he barked, "You guys better not kill me if I help save that Administrator broad, you got it?"

"Stop yappin' and move, dumbass! We've got a job to do!" Scout grabbed Andy roughly by the shoulder and yanked him forwards. Both boys broke into a run, and Spy lunged after them, fiddling with his cloaking device. Sniper slung his rifle over his back and saluted Miss Pauling, who often seemed to be the mercenaries' only ally in the administration. Then he sprinted off towards the conservatory, anxious as to what he would find there.

The very moment that Sniper's catnap had been cut short by sounds of gunfire, turmoil began brewing in his mind. He knew it meant trouble for the people in the vault. Whatever had happened, his little group was all that remained- they were the only ones who could help. It was time to put on a professional's face and get back into the fray. But in the midst of this crisis, he was plagued by worries about Engineer, and thoughts that repeated like a broken record. (I should have told him to drop it, should have told him to back down and just stay with us.)

As he cautiously followed the others over a sea of broken glass, Sniper took a series of deep, quiet breaths. He knew that brooding would change nothing- he had to steel himself and push onwards, or his aching heart might bring him to a dead stop.


	18. Backup Plans

( _Author's note: After all the foreshadowing, it would have been a cop-out to just breeze past the big reveal. If the contents of the sealed lab were just a red herring, I wouldn't have devoted much time to them, but I'd planned from the start for lost inventions to be found in there. True, many stories have been more about the journey than the destination, but this is Radigan Conagher we're talking about! I couldn't just have our heroes discover money or diamonds inside the vault._

_In regards to writing backwards, this is sort of a self-indulgent historical reference. Leonardo da Vinci was left handed, and wrote his diaries backwards- in mirror image. The suggestion that Engineer is left handed and would do the same is not part of TF2's canon, it's just my own take on him as a character. Mind you, anyone who would replace his right hand with a robotic murder weapon would want to be ambidextrous. Additionally, Engineer uses his left hand to operate the _Wrangler_ in-game._

_The science is mostly bullshit. That's the magic of a _deus ex machina_ like Australium, it'll do whatever's required for the plot. Phlogiston is a substance once theorized to exist in flammable objects; it's since been proven nonexistant, but I love old pseudo-scientific crap. )_

* * *

Engineer knew full well that he was sticking his neck out when he demanded to accompany the Administrator's entourage to the sealed laboratory. His pulse was deafening as waited, watching the older woman's face for any sign that she was about to deliver her answer. Those big men with shotguns wouldn't have scared him if he and his teammates were armed too. At that moment, he found himself at their mercy. This fact did not sit well with him. Not that he showed it. His goggles were a godsend whenever psychological warfare was at hand.

Then the Administrator finally relented. "Very well." Engineer's heart leaped in his ribcage; he'd honestly expected silence or gunfire to be the only answer he'd get. A hand came down on his shoulder, and he half-turned to see Sniper there, with a very relieved expression on his face. Grinning wildly, Engineer gave his friend's hand a brief squeeze, then scurried off to join their Machiavellian overseer.

"Hey, Ah never asked ta have another engineer along. Why the hell don't Ah get a say in this?" Tex griped, frowning at his counterpart and the Administrator.

She sniffed irritably, giving the renegade a supercilious look. "You don't get a say because you're one of my employees. Have you forgotten our contract? It was a verbal one, mind you, but I recorded all of our conversations. You wanted re-admittance into TF Industries and a finder's reward." She raised her eyebrows, her tone becoming sharper. "You struck a poor bargain, you know. A wise man would have pleaded for his life from me, especially a man who has betrayed my confidence. Consider your continued existence part of your benefits package."

They were walking down the stairs now, the woman and the engineers in front, the cadre of bodyguards behind. Engineer could see some bloodstains on the landing left by himself and Sniper. He winced slightly. Beside him, Tex was moving his mouth as though trying to speak. If a response to the Administrator s words had been forming in his mind, it never made it past his lips.

She smirked. "The door, Mister Tex?"

He jumped a bit. "Oh! Oh, right! Right." The filthy, grizzled little man produced a crumpled sheet of paper and unfolded it, then frowned pensively. Engineer craned his neck in the hopes of taking a peek, but Tex turned the sheet away, no doubt glaring behind his smudged goggles. "D'you know how much goddamn trouble Ah went through ta crack this code, boy? I'll be the one ta open Conagher's lab, y'all just sit back and let me at it."

Engineer rolled his eyes, but gave the other man room. "Alright, you just cool off a little and remember what lead us all to this point. While you were in here with an air conditioner keepin' ya cool, and a computer- that's RED property, by the way- doin' your work for you, my friends and I were fightin' for our lives out in the middle that godforsaken jungle. So don't get all uppity with me about hard work, buddy."

Morose grumbling was the best Tex could do for a witty rejoinder. He took out a grease pencil, then began searching the door's myriad tiny panels for a starting place. As the moments ticked by, everyone's impatience began thickening, taking on a tangible presence in the air. The majority of it seemed to come from the Administrator.

She spoke in the tone of a nun preparing to strap a misbehaving child. "Do you even know what you're doing, Mister Tex? You informed me that you had cracked the code." She glanced towards the RED engineer. "You. What do you make of this?"

As Engineer was about to speak, Tex growled, "Ah had it all worked out... ON THE COMPUTER! While you were comin' down in that manned tornado of yours, ya blew every friggin' window out of the conservatory, and ONE OF THEM went and busted MAH mainframe!" He was red in the face, seething with anger and embarrassment.

The Administrator didn t have any sympathy for his predicament. "I am a very busy woman, and right now you're wasting my time. This is unacceptable. How much of the code do you have on hand? Do you even remember any part of the rest, or will I have to replace you with someone more competent?"

Tex placed the crumpled paper against the door and looked between the two, grating his teeth nervously. "Ah just need a couple minutes ta refresh my memory! It was two words. Most of it was in Roman characters, but I remember two were Cyrillic, and- and y'see that backwards 'S'? That's from the Metelko alphabet..."

Although he hadn't spent as much time studying this puzzle as the other man, Engineer now had the luxury of seeing it alongside the computer's partial decryption. Something about it nagged at him. "Now hold on a minute. Are you sure about that? Almost all the letters on there are laterally symmetrical. The only Cyrillic Ah'm seein' is 'Ya'- the 'R' that goes the wrong way. But what if it's just an 'R'? What if all the Roman letters are backwards?"

A quiet smile tugged at the Administrator's face, and Tex just gaped with indignant shock. "Are you suggestin' Ah coulda' overlooked somethin' that childish? What kind of moron would- " He grimaced all of a sudden, rubbing his greasy temples as he considered this possibility. "Aw, hell..."

Engineer felt like he was playing solitaire, and all the cards had started falling into place. His eyes darted back and forth across the engraved surface. Between the numbers and symbols and zodiac signs, a pattern started to emerge. In a dozen places around the board, he saw the same pairs of letters appear. (Reading from right to left, those are 'AU' and 'UM'. Now, that rings a bell... but if I'm looking for the words I think I'm looking for, how can I tell which pairs belong to the code?)

Tex was still feverishly examining his printed page when Engineer spotted the key to their problem. "I've got it! Y'see that symbol? The circle with a dot in the center? Look, it first appears as the second character in this note. Everywhere it shows up, there's a letter to the left. It represents the sun in astrology, but alchemists used a lot of the same marks. If we're talkin' chemistry here, then that one means gold..." Engineer paused to catch his breath, and realized he was grinning like a madman. It took all his self-control not to just start pressing buttons.

The Administrator must have been feeling indulgent, or impatient enough to give him a chance. "Go on, then."

Ignoring the furious expression on his counterpart's face, he set to work. The letters on the door said only nonsense to the average person, but Engineer was born left-handed, and his brain was wired to see things differently. Almost all of his life he'd had to work against his nature, just to get people off his back. Switching from his left hand to his right, sleeping at night and working during the day- anything unusual about himself he could hide and fake. Working backwards, thinking like a madman, Engineer knew how to see things like Radigan Conagher had. He reached over and tapped in the code:

MUILARTSUA MURUA

In other words:

AURUM AUSTRALIUM

("Southern gold"... or as most folks call it, "Australium".) A heavy, mechanical "thunk" sounded from somewhere inside the wall, and the barrier began to rise up out of the way. Everyone seemed breathe a sigh of relief, even Tex. On some level, Engineer wanted to punch the guy. (It's your neck on the line, buddy. You oughta be a little more grateful.)

"Excellent," the Administrator murmured, folding her hands together and watching as the room was unveiled before their eyes. "Now for the acid test... Gentlemen, tell us what this machinery does."

* * *

The archway opened into another world, a large chamber with a vaulted ceiling and many layers of beams, hooks and chain networks suspended overhead. Even after decades of abandonment, Radigan Conagher's machines were intact and clear of corrosion and filth. The layer of dust that one might have expected was conspicuously absent. There were shelves and tables heaped with paperwork, countless machining tools, and mysterious constructs with no clear purpose.

At the far end of the room stood the largest machine, which looked straight out of an old-time carnival. It was largely constructed of brass, insulated cables and hollow glass forms; nobody would have been surprised if it started playing a calliope tune. Engineer knew the famous inventor didn't build things for such frivolous reasons, though. He studied it for clues of its real function. At its heart was a giant electromagnetic armature, stood up on its end and enclosed by a cylindrical frame. On the outer surface of this frame were hundreds glass pods. Each one contained a clockwork apparatus of rotating spheres. It was still operating after all this time- the frame and armature turning counter rotationally, the myriad torsion pendulums spinning, their tiny metal balls all gleaming as they whirled about. The huge contraption was once shielded under a tent of fine wire mesh, but large pieces of it had broken away.

Engineer spotted cables and converters protruding from the construct's base. He narrowed his eyes. Was that machine some form of electrical generator, the likes of which he had only ever seen in sketches and unfinished plans? What kind of monster had Conagher used to power his work, anyways?

As the mechanism that had withdrawn the door went silent, a low humming sound could be heard from within the room. More startling was the tinny buzz produced in the group s dental fillings. Engineer had noticed it before, when he was examining the puzzle door, but it was much stronger with that barrier removed. Several people frowned or rubbed their ears, confused by the noise coming from inside their heads. Engineer stepped over the threshold, and the sensation got worse. "Smells like ozone," he muttered, and was ushered ahead by the rest of the entourage.

At the back of the group, someone gave a muffled burst of laughter. Engineer wrenched his gaze from the fascinating scenery to see what was funny. Then he bit his lip, fighting to hold in a chuckle. Although he and the bodyguards wore their heads shaved, the Administrator sported an elegant bouffant, and Tex's isolation had left him with a prospector's beard and scruffy hair. Those two were now experiencing the effects of a powerful atmospheric charge, which had erected every hair on the woman's head and the man's face.

To the Administrator's credit, she reacted in her usual fashion- with composed irritation. "I'm certain this phenomenon is highly entertaining to men with childish sensibilities, but I'm not paying you to examine my hair. You engineers should both be scrutinizing every inch of this room. Look for plans, for notes, for a damned operator's manual if you can find one. I want to know what that old man left in here!"

"Yes, ma'am," Engineer nodded, then took off towards the biggest machine in the room. The buzzing in his ears and the taste of ozone intensified as he drew near, along with an uncomfortable sensation in his robotic arm. Standing mere feet from the giant, there was no more doubt in Engineer's mind that the gleaming sideshow attraction was a generator. How it worked- or why old Conagher chose such a strange design- was a mystery that he'd have to solve later. Even in the short time he had, Engineer recognized there was a dangerous problem.

(Before it came apart, the mesh would have been a Faraday cage for this monster. Now it's unshielded. Damn, we've gotta be bathing in electromagnetic radiation in here. Hell, the whole plantation could be affected! Is this reason that electronics go haywire in this region- the centre of the devil's triangle?) He spotted a small metal plate engraved with the machine s patent number and specifications. A low whistle escaped him as he returned to the woman. "This big fella's a generator, Ah can tell ya that. Ah'm anxious ta find out what makes it tick, but I'll do that on my own time." One of the goons wandered towards the fanciful dynamo, prompting Engineer to blurt, "Keep yer distance from that one! Its shielding is broken."

"Yeah, whatever you say, Shorty," came a grunted reply.

Engineer stifled the urge to frown, and found himself yawning instead. His fatigue wasn't shared by the lady in charge, who turned her gaze to another one of Radigan Conagher's lost inventions. "I wish to know the purpose of that machine next. Go look at it."

Out the corner of his eye, Engineer could see that Tex was busy studying the contents of a worktable. Tools, half-finished inventions, and materials littered the wooden surface. Feeling his enthusiasm return, he nodded and turned to his next task. As he got a closer look at the device, his pulse quickened just a bit. "Am I seein' what I think I'm seein'?" he murmured.

This machine was built around a glass chamber, large enough for a man to lie in, but too low for him to stand. The enclosure looked like it could be hermetically sealed. Behind it were the guts of the machine, and a control panel was positioned just over the glass box.

An old wooden pallet lay on the floor nearby, covered in a layer of desiccated crud. The words "MANN BANANA - PRODUCE & IMPORTS" were written on the side in chipped paint. Beside the machine was a table laden with paperwork and several objects that were so stunning to Engineer that he was unsure they were really what they appeared to be. He reached for one, wondering what exactly it was, and how it had been created.

"Hmm... It certainly looks like an Australium banana, doesn't it?" the Administrator murmured, creeping up behind Engineer. She was aloof as always, but her voice expressed a hint of curiosity, too. The sight of the precious metal was clearly enough to pique her interest.

"Whatever it is, it ain't solid all the way through," he said, feeling its weight. "It does indeed seem ta be covered in Australium, but I don't know how thick the layer of metal is. Or how ya get Australium all over a banana, for that matter. Lemme see..."

A flash, a bang, and a bloodcurdling scream interrupted his train of thought. The cacophony was followed by a quiet thump. Clutching at his heart, he whipped around to see one of the goons now twitching on the floor less than two feet from the generator. The Administrator turned to glare at the scene, her face twisted with disgust. The rest of the bodyguards were staring in disbelief.

Tex knelt by the fallen man, frowning pensively. "This one's a goner, Ah'd say. You reckon he got too close ta that there dynamo?"

The armored goons began muttering among themselves, shaken by their comrade's horrible demise. Their boss was far less heartbroken. "Of all the damned incompetent, unprofessional, irresponsible- God! I tell my personnel contractor to bring me the best there is, and I end up with clumsy fools." Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a few deep breaths, sucking in the air through clenched teeth. Then she directed her frown at the RED mercenary. "What are you waiting for? You have a job to do. Get on with it!"

Although he was feeling unnerved by the sudden death, Engineer tried to keep it from bothering him too much. He knew that his task would easily divert his attention from what had just happened. Still holding the banana, he squinted at some of the aged paperwork. He could feel the Administrator practically breathing down the back of his neck, but did his best to ignore it. After a few minutes, he spotted a yellowed document that offered insight into the purpose of the machine, the lab, and the plantation to boot.

"Seems that the Mann Company of yesteryear wanted old Conagher ta build somethin' that would preserve their bananas for the long voyage north. This musta' been what he came up with, somethin' that... Hmm. Come t'think of it, Ah'm not sure how well this'd work. How much do yer company records say about all this?"

An irritated glare was her initial response, to which she curtly added, "I may disclose those details to you if I deem it necessary." Engineer sighed, looking back to the table for more information. It figured that she d be so tight-lipped about her motives. When he spotted a folder of the inventor's own notes on the project, he forgot his question and began poring over the information.

The papers confirmed that the nearby machine was responsible for the mysterious bananas. Conagher had tried various aerosol coatings and even made a disastrous attempt at electroplating the fruit, but in the end he resorted to his most powerful resource- Australium. Engineer let out a gasp as he digested the next paragraph. "I'll be damned!"

By this point, all of the bodyguards had gravitated towards the banana-gilding machine. The Administrator herself had taken one of the fruit in hand, and was idly examining it, drawing grooves in the foil with her nails. When Engineer spoke out, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you have something important to share with us?"

Engineer didn't know how much most of the room's occupants would understand, but he was feverish with excitement at what he had read. "Ah told you how they wanted him ta preserve bananas, right? And he decided to seal 'em up inside a layer of Australium?" He grinned despite the indifferent looks he was getting. To Engineer, the great inventor's unconventional methods were a source of amazement. "Here's how the machine does it! Micro-wave rays are passed through tubes of vaporized Australium salts. This creates a sort of plasma, which is released into the sealed chamber. The surface of the banana- or whatever organic material was put in there- becomes infused with the charged vapor, which literally transforms the skin cells into a film of Australium, just eight microns thick."

From the back of the group, Tex raised his voice. "Why the hell'd he abandon the project? Did it preserve them at all?"

The Administrator frowned pensively at her banana. Engineer flipped through some more papers, muttering to himself. One of the goons broke their concentration. "Why don't you just open one of them and see?"

"Oh! Well, heck. It's worth a try..." Engineer took his banana and tried to break it open. The layer of metal was flexible enough to be bent or twisted, but it would not tear. Finally, he stuck the gold banana in a table vise and tightened it up. Everyone looked on as Engineer subjected the banana to more and more pressure. He grunted with effort as he turned the screw once again, saying, "Alright y'all, stand back a bit. If this works, it could be kinda- "

In the midst of Engineer's rambling, the Australium-skinned banana burst. A gout of pale yellow mush was launched onto the ceiling high overhead, and a familiar, sweet scent mingled with the generator's ozone emissions. "Holy shit," muttered one of the bodyguards. Decades after Radigan Conagher had transformed the banana, it was still fresh as the day it was picked.

The Administrator raised an eyebrow, but she had nothing to say about this development. The others were more vocal, cursing and muttering in confusion. Engineer returned to scanning the inventor's file for further ideas, murmuring to himself as he read. "According to these notes, the process left ya with more Australium than when you started. Only point-zero-seven-percent more, mind you, and you'd hafta use strong acid to separate it from the fruit. Even so, I'm curious t'see if this machine still works." Clearing his throat, he looked at all the black-clad men behind him and attempted an encouraging smile. "Say, do any of y'all have fresh fruit? Or, uh, some other organic material? Hell, even beef jerky might work."

There was a disheartening pause; the only answers Engineer received were the generator's low hum, and a muffled scraping noise that he couldn't identify. Then, from behind the wall of bodyguards, Tex drawled, "Ah got somethin'."

When the grizzled mechanic squirmed his way in through the group, Engineer felt an unsettling premonition. (What the hell has he been doing while we were over here?) Tex had a bloodied hacksaw in one hand, and a fabric bundle on the other. The RED mechanic grunted distastefully, but allowed him access to the machine. When he emptied the cloth wrapping into the glass chamber, a severed hand flopped out- it had been taken from the dead bodyguard.

The other armed men reacted with obscenities and angry words. More than one of them pointed his shotgun at Tex, a menacing gesture to be sure, but the Administrator had the last word on who would be shot. She studied the hand for a moment, her lip curling slightly in disgust, then looked to Engineer. "If that will suffice for a test-run, then proceed. Turn the damned thing on, already. ...oh, and Mister Tex? I don't want you leaving my sight again."

Engineer had recovered from his morning's brush with gore, but he was still appalled. "Was that really necessary?" he snapped at his counterpart. He would have glared at the guy to boot, but his gaze was preoccupied by the control panel and some of Conagher's notes. Gauges and indicator lights came alive as he turned the machine on, then started it warming up. (It looks like there's enough juice in there to cook up some plasma. Good.)

As everyone waited in silence, Engineer absentmindedly scooped up a glob of banana, then licked it off his finger. Still tasted fresh, even if it had the slightest tang of metal to it.

Behind him, the four remaining guards were muttering suspiciously to one another, or leaning over to watch the machine do its thing. The Administrator made a halfhearted effort to flatten her hair down, and Tex stood off to one side, fiddling with his shop apron; Engineer hadn't examined it closely, but the front pouch was bulging with tools. (Wouldn't be surprised if he's got a sidearm hidden in there. Hell, even a tire-iron is dangerous in the right hands,) the RED mercenary thought dubiously.

Some of the glass tubes inside the machine became illuminated, pulsing with an eerie glow. Now sparks and flashes joined in the mix, and Engineer hastily checked the control panel for signs of trouble. The readings were all normal, though; he hoped that if something did go wrong, it'd make itself apparent before irreversible damage had taken place. Looking back to the sealed chamber, Engineer saw it was filling with a luminous gas, and for a moment his test subject was lost in the mist. Then a sharp bell was heard, and Engineer gave a tense sigh. "Looks like dinner's ready."

Everyone crowded around as the plasma was sucked away, back to its reservoir within the machine. It left behind a most peculiar object. Engineer fought for enough free space to open the glass enclosure and remove his creation. The dead man's hand was now a gleaming gold color. Its outermost skin had become Australium, imitating the dead cells in perfect detail- right down to the fingerprints.

Two of the guards sounded angry, but the others were amazed. One joker asked, "Hey, y'think I could stick my woman in there? She'd never whine about tanning again." Someone else was making comparisons to King Midas. The Administrator just studied the gold hand with a critical eye. If he knew her at all, Engineer figured she was considering the invention's potential to make Mann Co. even wealthier. When extended her open hand towards him, the Texan gave it to her without hesitation. Whatever was on the outside, it was still part of a cadaver.

"Well, this is certainly fascinating," she murmured, holding up the gold-covered hand. It was strangely positioned, as though it were standing atop the woman's palm on its fingers. "As that machine is the last of its kind, it pleases me to see that it's still in working condition. Hmm...I'll let my R&D staff worry about improving its yield of Australium. For now, our greatest concern is getting it out of these abysmal ruins. Engineers, you two will be responsible for the disassembly. The rest of you, begin dis- "

Before the group's collective gaze, a horrible change occurred in the severed appendage. It moved. Contrary to any logical expectations that anyone could have formed, the perverse product of science leapt from the woman's hand and hit the floor. It skittered away in a panic like a drunken, gleaming spider. The Administrator's voice caught in her throat. She had far too much grit in her personality and her lungs to scream, but her shocked expression spoke volumes. Her entourage of goons had less dignity and gave startled cries as the thing went scrabbling off across the floor.

Engineer just gawked. As his brain wrestled to make sense of this development, he overheard his grizzled counterpart whisper, "Ho-lyyyy shit..." The man's eyes were ablaze with excitement, his teeth shining as bright as the Australium on that hand.

One of the guards proved to be more reckless than the others. He leveled his Mossberg and shot the escaping hand. The force of the gunshot bounced it hard against the ground, then sent it rolling haphazardly away until a table leg blocked its path. Engineer squinted at his creation, unable to determine much from where he was standing. A guard with sharper eyes exclaimed, "It's still moving!"

"Put your weapons away, you morons!" snapped the lady in charge. "That damned thing won't bite you. Just throw a trash bin or a hat over it!"

Engineer heard the goons muttering and securing their shotguns in scabbards they wore across their backs. He was leery of his boss's temper and aching to study the rest of the room's contents. He decided to take matters into his own hands. "Alright, I'll go get the little bastard." Leaving the folder behind, he hurried off towards the abomination. When he gingerly picked it up, Engineer discovered it was in remarkably good shape for something that had just been peppered with buckshot. Its surface was cratered but unbroken where the steel pellets had struck. "It's barely scratched!"

As he spoke these words, another shot rang out in the laboratory. Engineer dove for cover before he could even wonder what had happened. Peering out from behind a phlogiston still, he saw one of the guards groaning in a pool of blood. The other guards wrestling to draw their shotguns. Two more had fallen before he saw the perpetrator, but there was really no question of who it could be. With the larger men out of the way, Tex could be seen firing a Mossberg 500 at the last guard.

Only then did a horrible revelation dawn on Engineer- while everyone else was gawking at the Australium bananas, Tex had set upon the electrocuted guard and took his weapon. (For all I know, that son of a bitch could have pushed him into the generator. Oh God, I had a bad feeling about that bastard the moment I saw him! Why didn't I watch him more closely?) True, that was the responsibility of those big dudes in riot armor, but they too must have been hypnotized by the gleam of Australium.

Engineer spotted the Administrator. She had crouched behind the gilding machine and produced a sturdy little derringer from under her skirt. It was no surprise to him that she was packing heat. Tex must have suspected so as well because he made himself scarce and set to work reloading. After a terrible moment where the only sounds heard were from the grievously injured men, Tex raised his voice to deliver an ultimatum. "You people don't know when to quit, do ya? Ah don't really wanna kill y'all. Just come out with yer hands in the air. I'll let ya gather yer wounded and walk out of here in one piece."

"That's a kind offer, but I believe I'll just have you killed." The woman scoffed humorlessly. "Was this your plan from the very beginning, or have you decided to shun my goodwill on a whim?"

"Oh, Ah had plans! And backup plans, and backups for those plans too. Y'see, Ah told the other fellas we'd be set for life once we opened this sucker up. Somethin' started worryin' me after a while, though. Ah had an inkling of what might be in here, and none of it was Australium bars or deadly weapons. That meant things'd get ugly for me once the door opened." Tex gave a weird chuckle, and the others could hear him readying his stolen shotgun for further use.

"I suppose that's why you delivered your heartfelt appeal for assistance, transportation and a place in the respawn system?" The Administrator's tone was icy, her regular attitude compounded with the rage of the betrayed. Down on the floor, her bodyguards were still bleeding and producing piteous sounds of agony. Their riot armor did little to protect them from steel shot at close quarters. Only the last one to go down had his shotgun out, and to his credit, he was doing his best to ready it for when Tex popped out of hiding.

"Ma'am, there were some problems with my plans, and Ah knew you'd take care of 'em. First was the gang of greedy, impatient, dangerous ruffians who'd worn out their usefulness ta me." Tex gave a mighty laugh, shrugging his shoulders. "Hell, you wanted those fellas dead anyways! Ah was just tellin' you where ta find 'em. Next, I needed an aircraft big enough and steady enough ta ship these fragile goodies off this island. My hat goes off t'you for that, by the way- that jet out there is a real beauty."

There was only so much of Tex's gloating that Engineer could stand, before he raised his voice. "How the hell d'you expect ta make off with that machine and yer filthy, deceitful hide, when yer gonna' hafta get through all of us first?"

The only answer he got for his trouble was another laugh. Engineer grimaced, wishing desperately that he'd brought a concealed weapon. He could just charge Tex with a wrench, and hope the diversion would give the Administrator a clean shot. But if he wound up in respawn through his foolish action, he would be powerless to aid his employer. Even worse, he'd be leaving his last few teammates to that psychopath's mercy. As Engineer wracked his brain for a better plan of attack, he frowned at the scene before him. (Those men on the floor are running out of time... If only I had some way to scare the bastard out of hiding, or call for my teammates.) The Administrator's walkie-talkie was on the table with the gilt bananas, beyond anyone's immediate reach. He grimaced, returning to his more aggressive plan. Peeking around the other side of the still, Engineer finally spotted his enemy. Tex was crouched on the floor, half-turned away from his observer. He seemed to be working on something, a strange device with two metal probes. It was attached to an insulated work glove.

As Engineer tried to figure out what he was looking at, something squirmed in his grasp. He almost freaked out before remembering what it was- the dead man's hand. (It's not a grenade, but this could be the distraction I've been looking for.) He whipped the severed appendage at Tex, grinning faintly as it grabbed the madman's shoulder.

In a fit of panic, Tex swore, "Goddamned spy!" He grabbed the shotgun and sprang to his feet, firing wildly. No spies had been lurking beside him, of course, and his barrage found other targets instead; he punctured the phlogiston still and gave his RED counterpart a light peppering of steel pellets.

Gas hissed faintly from the tank as volatile fumes escaped through holes in the metal drum. Engineer scrambled away in search of safer cover. He had no idea how much phlogiston was contained in the still or how potent it was after so long, but his fresh wounds were nothing compared to what he'd suffer if that giant gas can exploded right beside him. "Don't shoot! Get behind somethin'!"

The other two combatants didn't seem to acknowledge the danger. Tex was in plain sight now, doing a crazy dance of panic as Australium fingertips dug into his flesh. Seizing the opportunity he'd been waiting for, the armed guard angled his Mossberg towards Tex and fired. His shot was far off the mark, striking a shelf laden with jars of hardware. Glass shards and metal fittings exploded from overhead and rained down on the unfortunate men below.

Tex's flailing might have amused Engineer, if the situation were not so dangerous. It definitely didn't entertain the Administrator, who was trying to line up a shot on him. Blissfully ignorant of the more serious threat to his well being, Tex's wrath suddenly fixated on the injured guards. Ignoring his shrapnel strikes and the hand gouging his shoulder, he turned towards the goon who'd shot at him and blurted a mindless string of obscenities. "Lousy rotten shit-eatin' mother-fuckin'-!" Lying on the ground, gravely bleeding from his injuries, his target could no longer lift a shotgun's weight. Mumbling a hoarse plea for mercy, the guard feebly lifted a hand towards him.

The RED wasn't keen on stepping into the open, but if his boss wasn't going to get clear of the growing phlogiston cloud, he was going to have to drag her away. In the midst of emerging from his cover, he saw the imminent execution and froze. Words were leaving his mouth before he could think better of it. "Don't kill him, for God's sake! I've gotta evacuate them before this place goes up in smoke!"

"Fuck that, and fuck ya kindly!" Tex shouted, and disintegrated the helpless gentleman's face. Then he began laughing, and killed the next bodyguard in line.

In the same moment, Engineer charged forward with no destination or goal in mind. He had experienced a wide spectrum of angered emotions over the course of his life, but this was the first time he could remember actually seeing red. A sharp 'pop' echoed in his ears, but didn't reach his awareness. Right now, the center of Engineer's world was Tex- that treacherous bastard, that mad dog he should have put down before things had come so terribly undone.

Something bowled Tex over, throwing him back towards his hiding place. His stolen Mossberg went spinning through the air like a propeller before coming to rest among a heap of papers.

Engineer's veins were still saturated with adrenaline, his body dripping sweat, extremities tingling. He staggered to a halt and stared in utter confusion, sucking in great lung-fulls of air to replenish himself. His upper lip felt strangely itchy. In the steadiest voice he could manage, he stammered, "Wh-wha- h-how- "

From off to his left, a breathy older woman s voice slithered into his ear. "I shot him, you fool. I never travel unarmed. Now quickly, take one of my men's weapons." A glance towards the raspy voice revealed the Administrator- cool, composed, and reloading her stocking pistol.

"The still," Engineer mumbled, taking quick stock of the room with wide, goggled eyes. There were papers blown everywhere. One half of the workspace was freshly scattered with broken glass, blood, screws and nuts and other bits of hardware. Conagher's large machines were still undamaged- except the phlogiston still, which continued hissing quietly, emptying flammable vapors into the room. "He shot the damn thing. Its leakin' fast. I think we'd better get outta here. Grab the men he didn't finish off, and just get the hell out of here 'til the air clears."

Without waiting for her permission, Engineer stooped down and grabbed an injured goon. He could hear the guy breathing, which was the best he could hope for. (They're probably goners, but dammit! It's not right, just leavin' them here.) Although he was much shorter than any of the bodyguards had been, he managed to heft the wounded man up against his chest. (How long will it take for the gas to dissipate, anyhow? I'm sure I saw vents up overhead, so once it rises up that high...)

"It is physically impossible for me to carry a large man on my own," the Administrator said. She turned to gather an armload of files related to the gilding machine. Hugging the thick stack of papers against her chest, she started for the door. The Engineer followed as she continued belting orders. "I must insist that we abscond as soon as possible. Time is a commodity I cannot afford to waste. If the rest of your team hasn't found their way here by the time we've climbed those stairs, I will give the call to muster over the public address. With my private workforce decimated, I'll be requiring your brute strength to-"

Somewhere behind them, a faint groan rose up from the floor. A pang of guilt struck Engineer. "Don't you worry, buddy, I'll come back and get ya just as soon as I've got yer co-worker out."

The person who answered him was not the remaining live guard. In a voice strained with pain and fury, Tex snarled, "Ah ain't done with you bastards...

They both looked back to see him lurching to his feet, gushing blood from the hole the Administrator put through his shoulder. Engineer narrowed his eyes in confusion when he saw that jury-rigged device was in use. Now worn over Tex's right arm, it almost looked like a perverse prosthesis, a fake hand with two thick metal fingers in a black plastic base. "Chrissakes, Tex. Just lie back down and take yer death like a man."

"Give up?" Tex spat blood at him, renewing his laughter. "Ha, haha... oh, Ah've got a shock for you. Y'see this little... number? Ah call it the Short Circuit..."

There were several paces between them. The Administrator could draw her derringer faster than Tex could come close enough to touch either of them with the prod hand. "If you'd be so kind as to kill him, ma'am?" Engineer sighed. He was tired of the fighting, the mudslinging, the antagonism. He just wanted the other engineer to cease existing altogether.

"I should have done this ages ago," she murmured, reaching for her gun. It was at that moment the prod on Tex's glove emitted a hum and a single white spark.

In a room awash with flammable vapors, a spark was all it took to change everything.

* * *

Spy, Sniper and the two Scouts were dashing down the stairs when an explosion rattled the fragile conservatory around them. The doorway below belched out an airy puff of red fire, the outermost rim of whatever had just gone off inside. A hot whirlwind blasted its way up the stairwell, carrying singed papers along with it. When their collective yell of shock died down and they dared to stand up again, the four men stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Then without so much as a word, the REDs bolted for the arched door below. They didn't share their thoughts, because they didn't need to. In that instant, there was only one thing that either of them could have said:

Engineer was still down there.


	19. The Midas Touch

( _Author's note: One factor which is unspoken here, but has been hinted at repeatedly in this story and my last, is the relationship between respawn and the characters' survival instinct- or rather, the lack of one. This is just my perspective on the matter, but here goes:_

_ Whether it's through chemical influence or something else, the characters are hard-wired to retain their natural aversion to death and injury (within the limits of each man's grasp on reality and common sense, of course- no reasonable person would use a rocket launcher as a means of conveyance, but Soldier does it all the time). Even knowing they'll come back if they're killed, they will fight tooth and nail to stay alive. On the same line of thinking, they are still protective of their teammate's lives, and suffer the same aversion to killing off a maimed comrade that people would in normal circumstances._

_ Respawn probably isn't an excruciating process, but (in my writing, at least- along with many other people's stories) it's not enjoyable, and they try to avoid dying at all costs. Why? It they started to just take it for granted, they would get reckless and careless, and their performance would suffer._ )

* * *

Engineer was thinking about Sniper's van. Or dreaming about it, perhaps. He was warm, as though he had fallen asleep in his friend's cramped little home and forgotten to turn on the ratty old air conditioner. Why he had come here, he couldn't recall. The van had become sort of a second bedroom to Engineer, but only during the weekend. He was quite positive that this was a Thursday. Yes, Engineer could never be mistaken about such an important thing. This was definitely Thursday. Why would he be asleep in Sniper's van?

People were talking outside, but their voices were muffled. He groaned and tried to shift his position, but it was too hard to move. He felt as though he was smothered under a heap of thick blankets. (This heat is choking the life out of me... I've gotta get up. Gonna pass out if I don't do something.) The mattress felt wrong, firm and bony. Engineer realized there was a person under him. (That's not Mundy! Why am I in bed with a stranger?)

The thought was unsettling under any circumstances, but in his lover's bed? Engineer felt a pang of crushing guilt. He couldn't understand why such a heavy burden had struck him. He tried to put it out of his mind, finding the feeling of treachery sticking to his skin like the sweat summoned from the sweltering heat. He couldn't look down at the body beneath him. (Chrissakes. Wrong number of hands. Are there two? More?) A pall of darkness snared his vision. The voices from before were closer now. Engineer felt his heart twist.

One voice warbled through the abyss. "...ly shit, what the fuck happened? What's all that...s like a fuckin' charcoal briquette..."

Another familiar tone broke into Engineer's head. "...uckie! Truckie, can you...God. We have to..."

It was his teammates. Their words sounded alarmed, horrified even. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't figure out what they were discussing. Had something happened out there? If he managed to get out from under these stifling blankets, he could take stock of the situation and lend a hand. He tried shouting to them. His voice wouldn't rise above a whisper. Panic was going to swallow him whole. He struggled to move- to scream- to do anything to escape the muffled, strangling darkness.

* * *

When they were mustering outside, the mismatched group of mercenaries thought they were in for a fight. The explosion put an end to that expectation. Sniper was the first to charge headlong into the room. When black smoke struck his face, he knew he wouldn't be using his weapons. Scout dashed beside him, gaping at their surroundings with a look of appalled disbelief.

"What the- holy shit! What the fuck happened? What's all that burning shit, old newspapers?" Scout flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to clear his vision of smoke. He caught flashes of bodies lying in cindered heaps around the room. His eyes darted, tongue flying in a panic at what he saw. "F-fuck, is that Engie? He looks like a fuckin' charcoal briquette! Is- is he alive? I mean, he's still here, so he's gotta' be alive, right?"

While the American panicked at the door, his teammate dashed into the room- a reckless move to be sure, but Sniper wasn't at his most rational. He scrambled over singed papers and broken glass and crouched before his best friend. The Texan lay face-down among the wreckage. Trying not to fly into a blind panic, Sniper grabbed Engineer's face and started patting it. "Truckie! Truckie, can you hear me? Oh, God. We have to get him out of here!"

The thick canvas of Engineer's overalls had spared some of his body from the fire, but smoldering tatters of fabric hung from him in strips all that remained of the man's shirt. The flesh on his shoulders, the back of his head and the outer sides of his arms was seared red. It had the odd sheen of melted wax in some places, undoubtedly a precursor to the blisters that were soon to follow. Sheltered beneath him- to the extent that the stocky man's body was capable- were two people. One was a bodyguard. The other one their Administrator.

It was hard for Sniper to look at the collapsed people at his knees and conceal his anguish. If Medic was around, or a dispenser nearby, they could ease the severity of Engineer's wounds. Swallowing down the painful knot in his throat, he glanced at his younger teammate. "Scout! Go and see if they've got any medical supplies in the plane!"

"Yeah! Yeah, I can do that!" the boy stammered, then darted off.

BLU Spy and Andy ventured towards Sniper, covering their mouths as they took in the destruction. The gilding machine's glass compartment had cracked open in several places, and countless irreplaceable notes and tools had been dashed about the room in smoldering heaps. High overhead, the ceiling ducts were slowly evacuating the smoke, quickly enough that the mercenaries hadn't collapsed the moment they stepped in. The broken Faraday cage had shielded the generator from the worst of the shrapnel. Despite some surface damage, it was still in operation. None of that mattered compared to the horrible injuries and losses of life around them.

"Shit, da air down here's not so good. How many of dem are still alive?" Spy hunched down, frowning at the woman's scalded leg that was protruding from under Engineer. Synthetic stockings would have melted into her skin, but they had just burned away- she must have worn silk. Her head was sheltered by the Texan's right arm. As their rescuers studied the wounded group, she moved slightly.

"Seems like me mate's alive, I can see him breathing. She is too. Don't know about the other one." Sniper's eyes darted around, searching for anything of use. "We gotta get 'em outta here, and quick! Grab those planks and use 'em like stretchers. Lay 'em out face-down." Sniper's experience with burn victims was limited, but he was determined to do his best at assisting them.

"What the fuck exploded, anyway?" Andy was hopping and fidgeting amidst the debris. His usefulness in moving bodies would be limited, and Sniper wondered if it would have been better sending him away instead of Scout. "D'you see Tex anywhere down here? I don't know what happened, but- " As his words trailed off to nothing, the one-armed boy took a nervous look around the room.

Spy grumbled pensively. There was an unspoken implication to Andy's question. "Dat son of a bitch seemed pretty shifty. I've gotta wonder if he didn't try somet'ing. Huh, or maybe... No. If it was a sudden accident, dose t'ree wouldn't have been running for da door." Locating fragments from a table that wasn't burning, he grabbed some of the long planks and hauled them back, then set them down alongside the injured.

Still brooding before his fallen friend, Sniper grunted in surprise when he was suddenly jabbed in the back by wooden planks. An impatient glare greeted his eyes when he looked up at Spy. "Quit moping and get off your ass. We can take da little guy out first. I'll grab his feet, you get da shoulders."

"Right." He nodded, then stood, turning his attention to Engineer. As Sniper pried his friend's goggles off and caught a glimpse of the man's face, he had the strangest impression that Engineer was now sporting a moustache. (What the bloody hell? I must be seeing things. I've been awake too long.)

With the help of the BLU agent, Sniper hoisted Engineer off the floor, and set him down again on the plank. "...okay Truckie. Hang in there. I'm here for ya. You just be strong, mate." Although the top and back of his head was badly seared, Engineer's face had escaped with little damage. He was mercifully unconscious and made no sound or struggle during the trip up the stairs.

Andy scuttled along behind the older men, still chattering nervously about the firefight, mysterious explosion, and what might have caused them. He was thoroughly ignored by both older men. When they reached the conservatory, the BLU agent looked over Sniper's shoulder and asked, "You t'ink it's safe working in here wit' all dis Goddamn broken glass?"

"That's the least of our problems," a short reply snapped its way into the BLU Spy's conversation with Sniper. Miss Pauling came bounding into the conservatory, a green sack slung over her shoulder. If the red cross on the bag was any indication, then it was crammed full of medical goods. She nodded towards the limp man in their care. "You've got to get the Administrator as soon as possible. Just set him down here, I'll work on him." The bespectacled woman gave an agitated sigh, and added, "She'll be hopping mad if she realizes that you didn't rescue her first."

"Of all da people in dat room, she was in da best healt'," Spy huffed. "I'm not so optimistic about her guards." Spy looked very much like he wanted to peel off his balaclava. It was so dirty and sweaty that it felt more like a scab than a sleek mask.

They carefully laid down the wooden plank with Engineer in tow. Sniper paused a moment to rub his eyelids, grimacing. He heard a scuffing sound and opened his eyes to see Scout crouching beside him with the metal canteen, slowly pouring the last of its water onto a thick wad of folded gauze. As if he could sense Sniper's eyes on him, the kid explained himself. "We gotta cool him down. Gotta- uh- immerse the area in water, or pour cool water on it. Yeah! I guess I did remember somethin' useful from Boy Scouts." Scout sighed, laying down squares of gauze as carefully has his shaky hands could manage. Sniper reached down and gently patted Scout on the shoulder, a mournful look on his long face.

Although he wanted to stay and help, Sniper knew his strength was needed moving people up from the lab. "If you're all set, we'd best get the others."

Spy came forward with some useful information. He tapped Miss Pauling on the shoulder, then nodded his head towards the conservatory's entrance. "Dere's an old water tap just a couple feet to da right of da door. I saw da bastards here using it. It ran cold and clear after a few minutes, so it's probably safe."

"Good, we'll need more water than I could find. For now, get moving. The others might not have much time." Miss Pauling urged. She wasn't one to shirk any task, quickly setting to work with the medical supplies. Sniper's stomach clenched as she put a large needle into the underside of Engineer's left arm. He rushed for the stairs, managing to stave off any emotional displays for the time being.

* * *

When he stepped into the lab for a second time, Sniper immediately noticed that something had changed. The gilding machine hadn't caught his eye during the first trip down, but it was now impossible to miss. Inside of the thing, Sniper could spy bits that were now glowing and whirring. Its cracked glass underbelly was more worrisome. An opaque mist filled the compartment, seeping sluggishly out of its many cracks. Sniper thought there might be something else inside, but he couldn't tell. One look at the machine was all that it took to make him hurry.

His sentiments on the strange contraption were shared by the rest of the group. "What the fuck's that thing doing?" Scout asked, looking grateful that the injured were nowhere near it.

Sniper did his best to form a plan of action. "I don't know, and frankly, I don't give a flying fuck right now. Grab one of those broken tables, like what we used to carry away Engie. You too, Andy. Spy, take the Administrator." With that, Sniper crouched down and hefted the surviving guard up against his chest. Any worries he might have felt about mishandling their patients fell to the wayside, outweighed by fears of that suspicious machine. For all Sniper knew, it could have caused the explosion in the first place.

None of the others argued with his orders. Soon enough, they were trudging back up the stairs, each man wrestling with his own burden. Their employer began regaining her senses, and grumbled a semi-conscious demand to be set down, but Spy rebuked her. "You'd fall over if you tried to walk right now, Mademoiselle. Just settle down and wait for some medical treatment."

"...clumsy oaf," she growled, but relented.

Sniper was tempted to rip the Administrator a new one for all the trouble she had put them through, but he held his tongue- even wounded, the woman was still a dangerous megalomaniac. And she signed his paycheques. When he stepped into the conservatory, he was greeted by a completely unexpected sight. His heart lurched painfully, and it was all he could do to not forget his fragile cargo and break into a run. "Demoman! Soldier! When the hell did you get here?"

Behind him, he heard Scout give a whoop of surprise. Sniper was no less startled than the boy. It had been over a day since he last saw either of the two men. Soldier was looking to be in rough shape. He sat beside Engineer with a morose look on his face. Demoman had made out better, health-wise. He was carrying a bucket of water over to the impromptu medical station, grinning wearily at the sight of the other REDs. "It were no' five minutes ago, mate! Is that all o' the wounded?"

"Yeah, the others down there looked pretty dead. I'm not so sure this poor bastard's got much of a chance either, t'be honest. Unless we can get..." Sniper's expression waxed grave and pensive as he glanced down at his passenger. His mind began turning as he remembered something, something that could save the guard's life- and spare his dear friend from the excruciating pain of extensive second degree burns. "Just had an idea. Here, gimme a tic t'get this bloke settled." The two Scouts set down their wooden planks, and Sniper lay out the injured guard on the largest one.

Miss Pauling had stiffened up like a deer in headlights at the sight of the older woman being brought in. The Administrator grimaced in pain as Spy placed her on the other pallet. Her heavy smoking habit had probably girded her lungs against the lab's polluted air, but her right arm and leg were practically glowing with burns. A less stoic person might have been screaming from second-degree burns of that extent, but she limited her vocalizations to short, terse demands. "Bring me water. NOW. And gauze. Ugh, and a cigarette."

"R-right away, ma'am!" Miss Pauling had really done all she could for Engineer. She had even hung an IV bag of Ringer's Lactate from the nearest table, which was replenishing the burned man's bodily fluids. When she scrambled off to assist the Administrator, even Soldier didn't do more than grunt and pull his feet out of the way.

Scout had busied himself retrieving a fold-out table from the wreckage. He dragged it over to where the others had gathered, then collapsed the thing and lay down on it. His counterpart had to settle for a chair. With nobody else stepping up to the plate, BLU Spy began peeling armor off the wounded guard. Maybe it was the hectic atmosphere, but the two RED newcomers didn't seem to notice or care that there was an enemy in their midst. Staring grimly at Engineer had become a full-time occupation for Soldier, and Demoman had run out to get more water for their scowling overlord. When he returned with a bucketful, he set it down where Miss Pauling could reach it, then hurried off to join his teammates.

"Alright mates. We need a plan," Sniper began. He was mentally rehearsing the route back to the basement, where Ruprecht's dispenser could be found. As he approached Engineer's resting place, Soldier rose shakily. The American derailed his train of thought with a swift, solid punch to the face. The force of the blow knocked Sniper off his feet and onto his ass. Immediately, the group broke into an unfocused shouting match.

Sniper pawed clumsily at his nose, which was gushing crimson. He gawked at Soldier, confounded. "What in the bloody hell was that for?"

Red-faced and blazing mad, Soldier roared, "WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THIS HAPPENED? HOW could you let this HAPPEN TO HIM, you BRAINDEAD, BANDY-LEGGED BASTARD?"

The words ignited a wildfire of anger within Sniper; he staggered to his feet, glowering back at his attacker. "Do you have any idea of what's happened here, ya bleedin' drongo? What makes you think I could have- " Words caught in his throat. He cleared them with a strong yell. "They wouldn't let anyone else down there! Just him, the other egghead, and her bloody goons! So don't you fucking tell me I LET this happen, because they bloody well cut us off!"

"Have ye lost yer bleedin' mind?" Demoman's expression was similar to Sniper's. He stepped towards Soldier, in case the team's loose cannon decided to try anything else. Fatigue and injury had never stopped Soldier before.

"A good soldier NEVER lets his men wander into dangerous territory ALONE! I outta jam my SHOVEL up your ASS and BREAK IT OFF IN THERE! Then maybe you'll think twice about SITTING AROUND when MY... when a TEAMMATE is in danger!" As Soldier continued railing on the bushman, he became more unstable. When he paused to catch his breath, he looked like he was on the verge of either full-on hysteria, or tears.

From his place at floor level, Scout contributed at an unusually low volume. "Fuuuuuck, would you guys quiet the fuck down? I'm tryin' to get some rest," Curled up on a chair nearby, Andy just winced and covered one ear with his remaining hand.

The kid from Boston didn't have much heft when it came to defusing emotionally charged clashes like this. Fortunately, someone else in the room did. Laying propped-up on a bundle of her own tattered clothes, the Administrator turned her head to glare at the men. Despite the horrible pain she must have been feeling as Miss Pauling applied wet gauze to her burns, she spoke in a sharp voice that did not waver.

"Gentlemen, I am currently recovering from a rather serious accident. I hope your gnat-like attention spans do not hinder your ability to listen when I tell you this. My patience is spent. If your brute strength was not needed, I would kill everyone responsible for that little... outburst." She paused to take a drag from her cigarette, letting her icy stare linger on the mercenaries. "Now that we're all on the same page, I hope you'll save any temper tantrums for after this mission is over. In the meantime, if any of you know the whereabouts of a Medi-gun, a dispenser, or some other machine that would help the injured here, do come out with it."

Still trying to stop the bleeding from his nose, Sniper croaked, "Just what I was gonna say. Their bastard medic 'ad a dispenser down in the basement. His Medi-gun were probably there somewhere, too." A murmur of realization passed over the group. Even Soldier backed off. He returned to his seat beside the wounded Texan.

Rubbing the fatigue from his eyes once again, Scout groaned and started assuming an upright position. "Yeah, right. We- we gotta get it."

Demoman moved up beside Sniper and put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a crooked smile. "Aye, that sounds good! What's the fastest way... Oh! Hold up, mate. Soldier, ye think it'd be easier carryin' the little healin' box that Engineer made?"

"That thing's back down the road, and you'd have to get around God knows what other traps to get it." As he spoke, Soldier didn't look up at the others. He was dripping water onto Engineer's bandages, studying the shorter man with a brooding expression, like an eagle watching over its nest.

Out of the blue, Spy suddenly cut in. He was leaning over the pale body of the injured guard, wiping blood from his hands with a wet cloth. "Dis guy's got one foot in da grave. I don't t'ink you can get down to dat torture chamber and back, all while carrying a Goddamn dispenser, in less den t'ree quarters of an hour. If you can find Mssr. Ruprecht's Medi-gun, well... I'd give him twenty minutes. But I don't know where dat monster stowed it. He wasn't using it when we chased him off." The masked man spat, frowning grimly at his patient. "Hostie de tabernac maudite... Whatever you do, do it fast."

"I know how ta get around the side of the mansion," Andy said, with a hint of trepidation. "When I got caught- uh, when your guys' Engineer found me, he said he wanted to group up with you. I showed him the way. It's kind of a short path through the bushes. Easy to miss if you don't know it's there." When the rogue scout finally realized that all eyes were upon him, he shrunk back in his chair and grinned nervously. "C'mon, guys, d- don't gimme that look. I helped! I- I'm back in the company again, right, babe?"

He flickered a glance towards Miss Pauling, who responded in a less than reassuring manner. "That's not really my call, Mister Dillon."

Miss Pauling cleared her throat in an uneasy bid for the Administrator's attention. The older woman was popping some pills from the medical supply. She narrowed her eyes, not deigning to look at anyone in particular. "On signing your contract, you acknowledged that the penalty for betraying the RED company is death. ...given the current situation, I may be persuaded to consider lighter disciplinary measures... IF you get a fucking healing machine, and fast!" Considering the circumstances she was being shockingly nice.

Andy seemed to think so, at any rate. He sprang to his feet, stammering, "Sir yes sir!" and was halfway to the door when Demoman spoke up.

"Ye might have a wee bit of a problem carryin' that thing, lad. Here, Ah'll come wi' ye and lend a hand." Chuckling insensitively at his joke, the Scotsman caught up with Andy and clapped him across the back. The kid almost jumped in fear, but ultimately, he was probably glad to be travelling with someone who wouldn't be kicking his backside the whole way there.

As Demoman and Andy disappeared into the night, Sniper shuffled around the other side of Engineer's plank. Broken glass crunched under his feet. Soldier gave him a brutal glare, but he ignored it. He was desperate to be at his friend's side. The Texan's face was nestled in a ring of towels, the best support one could hope to provide someone in his position. Sniper caught a glimpse of one peacefully closed eye, sandy eyelashes a stark contrast to the pink hairlessness of Engineer's burned scalp.

Suddenly feeling as though he were being torn in half, the Australian clutched a hand over his face and sagged against his knees. Keeping quiet wasn't too hard- it was a necessary part of his job, after all- but his blood-tinged snot and searing tears were harder to suppress. This here was just the metaphorical back-breaking straw, the latest crummy incident in a day that had been non-stop bullshit. Finding himself without a place to go or a job to do, he sank into a state of despair.

Sniper scrunched forwards with his chin against his knees and power-sulked. He fished through his pockets and his pack, locating a rag to soak up the mess on his face. On the other side of the unconscious Engineer, he heard Soldier give a faint, hoarse noise, like a broken laugh. This aggravated his temper, which was already in a tenuous state. He rolled his head towards Soldier, preparing to give him a piercing evil eye. What Sniper saw was jarring.

Although Soldier's helmet was of considerable help in hiding his face, the burly American had sought further concealment with a dirty sleeve. What Sniper could discern of his features was tragic. Exhausted, slumped on the floor and suffering his own injuries, keeping watch over the badly burned form of his best friend in the world- Soldier had reached the limits of his stamina and rigorous self-control. The noise that Sniper heard was quiet, muffled sobbing.

All around them, the room had settled into a dismal, field hospital atmosphere. Having exerted his limited abilities to treat the guard, Spy had left the man with a saline drip and was now smoking away from the patients with a morose demeanour. Scout's attempt at napping was troubled, fitful. The boy's whimpers and weak cries, though quiet, were the loudest noise heard among the group. Miss Pauling had stepped out to get more water, leaving the Administrator to suffer her wounds in stony silence. She looked disgusted with the moping pair. Some great killers she'd hired.

Mixed signals were traversing Sniper's nervous system, dissonant urges struggling to fire neurons. He was sad, sorry, angry, and bitter about so many things at that moment in time, not the least of which was his bloodied nose. Soldier was the cause of that. His natural inclination after such an incident was to completely ignore Soldier for the next week. But right now he was experiencing another impulse- to sympathize with the American, or even say something.

As the conflict skittered through his agitated nerves, he found himself thinking of the man between them, the one who had encouraged things like empathy in himself and in Soldier. (Jesus Christ, this mission's piled up so much shit on all of us. You'd tell me that bickering won't help the situation at all, wouldn't you? You're always saying we've got to stick together the closest when things are at their worst...)

Sniper cleared his throat as quietly as he could. Still staunching the flow of snot with his rag, he dared to give Soldier a bleary look. The American's face was uncovered now, but noticeably damp, drawn into a wide frown that was struggling to preserve its shape. He was a proud man with a will of stone and iron. Even if his spirit was crushed, his stoicism fought to squash the desire to show any emotional displays.

"Hey," the Australian said quietly, and rather roughly. "I'm... well, I'm sorry. For what's happened to our mate. If I could've been there, I..."

Soldier heaved a hoarse, gusty sigh. "I wasn't there, either. I couldn't help him. ...Goddammit, those boys had better get back here and patch him up before he comes to." The helmet tipped back a little, and for a moment Sniper could see his teammate's rheumy eyes. "Engie hates getting burned. More than getting shot, stabbed, or blown up. I've been with him in respawn after a sneaky bastard Pyro's gotten the jump on him, and he... well, it's hard for him to pull himself back together after being burned to a crisp." While he tried to explain his concerns, to speak of a human's fear and pain in ways that weren't derisive or mocking, Soldier struggled with the words. "It's a slow death, burning. There's nothing more cowardly and inhuman than drawing out an opponent's death."

The marksman's brow creased as he thought of this, looking down at his wounded friend. Almost every mercenary had his own least-favorite way to go. Nobody would argue that permanent death was better than respawn, but the trip always seemed rougher when they met their end in the most gruesome, excruciating fashion imaginable. Sniper's experiences were enough to understand what kind of distress Soldier had been trying to describe. "If he comes around before they've got him patched up, we'll be here for him. We'll help him get through."

The brash American didn't say anything in return. He grunted, then reached for cold water once more. Like a solemn ritual, Soldier returned to pouring the liquid on his friend's burns. His hands moved slowly and gently, thick fingers careful not to touch damaged skin. Soldier's face was no longer shuddering as though it might crack at any moment. It had settled into something closer to his everyday frown. His nostrils stopped flaring, his eyes clearing. Somewhere between nursing his fallen teammate and Sniper's quiet words, he had found solid ground once more.

Peace settled once more on the group. As Sniper finished mopping his face, he found the slings and arrows of the past two days were less painful. Tension still gnawed at him, but he was finally coping with what he'd been through. He closed his eyes, listening to the wind and soft sounds of water slopping. Cold metal bumped into his shoulder, catching his attention. Turning to face the object, he found himself staring at a half-filled canteen and Soldier's rough hands. He took it, then sat on his knees. With Soldier's sharp eyes drilling into him, he too began pouring water onto Engineer's burned body.

"You're doing it wrong," Soldier grunted.

"Always am," Sniper chuckled wearily.

Sighing, Soldier kept his gaze on Engineer's still form. "At least you can admit it."

* * *

While the Australian took over the job of cooling Engineer's burns, Soldier tried to seat himself in the least painful manner possible. It wasn't easy. He was riddled with fragments of shrapnel, and the persistent ache in his chest and tailbone suggested breakage. Considering how close he'd been to wearing the Colonel's last rocket, he was lucky to be alive. Seeing his own wounds mended wasn't Soldier's first priority, though. Engineer was in worse shape, and at this point in their mission, putting the Texan out of his misery was not an option.

(That crazy broad still wants to take everything she can from the lab down there. I don't know if they found bombs or guns or a new kind of paper shredder, but there's only one person left who can sort out all of that crap for her.) Even as he brooded over his unconscious friend, Soldier could hear the Administrator relaying orders through her walkie-talkie. (She really doesn't give any quarter, does she? Once she's got her mind set on something, she won't stop until she has it.) He might have admired her relentlessness more, if she wasn't such a demanding bitch.

Amidst the hushed sounds of conversation and the night wind, another noise caught Soldier's ear. He frowned and looked towards the alcove, which was a few meters away. "Is someone coming up the stairs? Could've sworn I heard footsteps."

"What?" Sniper followed Soldier's gaze. "God, I hope not. The other guards down there were... I mean, they couldn't have been alive. They were bloody cooked." He paused for a moment, letting out a troubled sigh. "We didn't find that shifty little bugger. I reckon he got buried under the wreckage. ...and even if he's still alive, there's no way he could get up and walk after all that."

Soldier huffed, unsure who the "shifty little bugger" was, but not particularly caring. "Are you saying I imagined it? I am absolutely certain that I heard someone moving over there!" He started to rise, choking back sounds of pain as best as he could. Sniper's hand was quick to fly onto the stubborn American's shoulder, pushing him back down. Soldier wondered if punching the guy a second time might be justified.

"Alright, look- just sit down. Yer in worse shape than me. I'll go check the stairwell." Sniper rose and handed back the Texan's metal canteen.

The older man felt his temper cool a bit, but didn't bother to ease off on his frown. That was one of his preferred expressions, anyhow. "Hmph. Fine, then." He watched as Sniper crossed the floor, broken glass crunching underfoot.

Behind them, the Administrator was still distracted with the radio. Miss Pauling must have overheard the discussion about strange noises, however, because she picked up a flashlight and approached the site of investigation. "Be careful, Mister Mundy. There's still smoke coming up from below..."

Sniper squinted down into the unlit stairwell. "I think I might see someone movin'..." He frowned and took a step back, reaching for his submachine gun. "Oi, Who's there? Show yourself, ya wanker! ...or speak up, anyhow. I'll help as soon as I know you're not a bloody zombie."

From the darkness nearby, someone answered. His voice was barely audible, a piteous rasping sound- one of the wounded men who must had somehow dragged himself all the way up the stairs. "Jesus, you gotta' help me! Ah'm dyin'... the burns... it hurts so much..." Miss Pauling had just arrived on the scene; she gasped, and directed the flashlight's beam to where Sniper was tentatively descending the first step.

Watching from his place on the floor, Soldier felt a twinge of unease. He poured a little more water on Engineer's bandages and muttered, "You think they missed something down there, Engie?" There was no response, of course. The Texan was still down for the count. It felt better for Soldier to be talking to someone, though, even if it was someone who couldn't hear him.

With his SMG propped against his hip, Sniper disappeared into the alcove. "Miss Pauling, could ya shine the light that way for me? I heard the poor bastard speakin' from over there." Sniper paused as he located his target. "Right, I see your hand there, mate. Just let grab- "

A short, sharp scream cut through the conservatory, electrifying the room's occupants. Soldier sat bolt-upright in spite of his pain. Scout shot up from the depths of sleep and crouched like a sprinter, looking left and right for trouble. Even the Administrator took notice. For that nerve-wracking moment, everyone knew that something was wrong, but nobody knew what it was.

Miss Pauling was responsible for the cry of alarm. She scrambled back in a hurry and dropped the flashlight, her eyes wide with shock. Sniper backtracked as well, struggling to break away from the man he'd been trying to help. With the submachine gun braced in the crook of his arm, he took aim and fired clumsily at his attacker, spitting curses. As the woman fished a chubby little Webley from under her jacket, the alcove suddenly lit up like a flashbulb. Sniper went rigid and gave a hoarse yelp, then was yanked forwards by the hunched figure emerging from the shadows.

Miss Pauling began shooting into the alcove and yelled, "Someone, get over here and help me! It's not- HE'S not going down!" Scout was quick to respond, scuttling across the debris-strewn floor to her aid.

Soldier moved upright, forcing his injured body into combat mode. Even if his threats were more powerful than his fists at that moment, he would not back down from a fight. Mustering all his strength, he began a plodding, painful trek towards the others, and bellowed, "Goddammit, what's going on in there? Status report, private!"

Although Scout may not have heard Soldier's order, he did give a crude, babbling account. "Alright motherfucker, you're gonna- OH SWEET LADY 'A MISERY! Is that Tex? What'd you do ta my Sniper, you short sack of crap?" Scout's Force-a-Nature went off with a resounding bark, and the advancing enemy went crashing back down the stairs.

Miss Pauling stammered, "The sniper... Is he dead? Where did he land?" She snagged her flashlight off the ground with a shaky hand, then began sweeping the debris on the landing below with its beam, searching for anything that looked human.

"I can't see shit..." The youth was fidgeting as though he badly wanted to grab the flashlight for himself, but couldn't spare a hand to do it. He needed both of them to handle the Force-a-Nature. "Wait, there's Sniper! ...he's still lyin' there. I guess he didn't die. Where'd that crazy fuckin' engineer end up?"

"Scout! Do you mean to tell me that the rebel group's engineer is still active?" Lurching up behind them, Soldier stopped to catch his breath, and squinted down at the circle of light. Despite Miss Pauling's unsteady grasp on her flashlight, she managed to still the beam long enough to reveal Sniper, who lay in a battered heap at the foot of the stairs. His gun was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, yeah, duh. He's the guy who got the fuckin' super-secret puzzle door open for everyone. Didn't anyone bring you up to date?" The VTL aircraft's floodlight seemed to suck the colour out of Scout's face. Between the stark brightness and deep shadows, he looked gaunt with tension. "We just saw him down there. I'm sure it's him. But his body was... his skin, it... I d-don't know what the fuck I was seein'!" The flashlight finally centered on the man in question, and Scout's breath caught in his throat. "Is he movin'? Did I kill him?"

"I'm certain I managed to hit him at least once, but the bullets..." Miss Pauling bit her lip and stared at the odd, crumpled shape now appearing in the beam of her flashlight. It was a broken parody of a human, a patchwork of charred flesh and bone, mingling with a wrinkled, golden foil. Although his body was partly hidden, Soldier didn't really know what to make of the parts that were visible. A pair of goggles was soldered to the man's head with molten rubber. The material had also burned through skin and part of the nasal cartilage, leaving him with deep, almost syphilitic lesions. A network of gold veins intermingled with the ruins of the man's face. His chest had a dented appearance, like something had punched him so hard it left an impression. At the end of his right arm, a blackened stump of burned plastic was fused to the foil and bone. Two gleaming metal prongs emerged from the wrecked appendage, like a horribly inefficient version of Engineer's Gunslinger.

He moved.

It was a twitch at first, then a lurch. He disappeared out of sight, vanishing into the creeping shadows. Scout gave a girlish scream and stumbled back, nearly knocking over his injured teammate in the process. Moving with more caution but no less speed, Miss Pauling also put some distance between herself and the alcove. She pushed her flashlight into Soldier's hand, then hurriedly reloaded her pistol, speaking quietly and quickly as she did. "If a load of buckshot couldn't kill him, I'm not sure what will. We might be better evacuating our wounded to the jet and then trying to deal with him."

Glancing towards the buckshee medical station, Soldier realized that the only people who could move patients now were Miss Pauling and Scout. They'd have to do it one at a time. That Spy was nowhere to be seen. The Administrator was busy harping demands through her radio, seemingly off in her own world. Everyone was doomed to flounder in chaos without clear orders or goals. Soldier himself was the only person he saw as qualified to lead. He was going to have to take the reins.

There was a great deal about the situation that was unknown to him. This had never stopped the burly American from trying to take charge before, and it wouldn't stop him now. Gripping his shotgun in one hand, he levelled the flashlight with his other and glowered into the darkness. "You two. Get Engie the hell out of here. I'll handle this guy..."

They both stared at him for a moment, jaws practically dangling from their skulls. "Are you fuckin' shitting me, Sarge?" Scout spat, pawing at his scattergun.

Soldier bristled. "Negative! Tend to the wounded, goddammit, or our mission here will be in serious jeopardy!"

"Th- then here, take this. If I see him kickin' your ass, you fuckin' bet I'll be stepping in to help." The motormouth was clearly anxious. He was still determined, and that was reassuring for Soldier to see. He swapped his Force-a-Nature for the older man's shotgun, stuffed a handful of shells into Soldier's pocket, then trotted off to start moving the wounded.

"You'd better know what you're doing," was all Miss Pauling said, before she went to join Scout.

Soldier set down the flashlight and braced himself, clutching the powerful scattergun two-handed. His lips curled with contempt. "I know you're coming up, you bastard! You won't take me by surprise, mark my word!"

Sounds of scraping and shuffling had been the only sign of Tex's presence since he fled the spotlight. Soldier knew he couldn't be ambushed, not with the gulf of open space between him and the alcove. A strange, bubbly wheeze trickled up from the shadows. The disfigured madman rasped, "That bitch is still out there, isn't she. Shoulda' left when y'all- " Tex's voice died off for a moment, and he wheezed in another lungful of air. "- had the chance. She played her part. Did it more thorough than Ah expected, but... She shouldn't have slighted me! ME! The one who found this fuckin' thing in th'first place! ...I'm gonna' kill her. Gonna' kill that bitch. Get outta' my way, boy, or I'll hafta kill you too..."

"You talk tough, egghead, but I'll bet they didn't teach people to fight in your namby-pamby pantywaist university. Just try it, maggot! I'll crush you!" Soldier could hear the crunching and shuffling of people behind him, their words audible but not understood. He wasn't paying attention to anything but the distorted voice in the stairwell. Faint motion within the shadows would catch his eye, only to cease and reappear elsewhere. It was tempting to just start blasting and hope he hit something, but the pause to reload would be an opening. Patience was the only thing that might see him through this standoff, and it had never come easily to the mastiff-jawed mercenary.

As far as a half-dozen steps below the landing, the flashlight cut a swath into the alcove's darkness. It was here that the enemy suddenly crawled into sight with alarming speed. Tex's body was unnaturally positioned- legs spread wide, belly to the ground, catching the stairs with the edges of his boots. Soldier gave him both barrels.

The result of this was cause for great consternation in Soldier. Flattened against the ground as he was, Tex was only driven a few steps back down this time. Some of the pellets from Scout's shotgun were embedded in a raw, charred patch of the man's shoulder, but the foil around it was just pockmarked. It only took a moment for him to shake off the impact, at which point he lunged forwards again. Soldier barely had time to reload in the interim. As he pulled the trigger a second time, a blinding flash erupted from the weapon fused to Tex's right arm.

Searing pain tore through Soldier's body, forcing a bloodcurdling scream from his lungs. He wasn't even certain the Force-a-Nature had discharged. All he knew for sure was that something terribly wrong was happening to his body, something that had cost him the power to move. The world pulled away from him as though he were being swallowed up by a black hole, sights and sounds reaching him through a long, thin tube. He drew one foot backwards as the universe spun ninety degrees on its side, then everything went dark.


	20. Torn Asunder

( _Author's note: The phrase_ "tête carré"_ that BLU Spy has used in referring to RED Sniper is a classic Québécois insult towards English speakers, it means _"square-head"_. I always imagine characters probably think to themselves in their own language, so when I write their thoughts in straight English, it's supposed to be a straight up translation. It wouldn't make sense for, say, a German to think in English- with a German accent, no less- or with smatterings of German words for flavour._

**Addendum:** I posted this part in a rush before leaving for a two-week trip, and only realized now that I'd fumbled the writing in a few places and lost some important words somewhere in editing. It's been cleaned up now.)

* * *

The lawn outside the conservatory wasn't far enough to safeguard the wounded. Scout cringed as he spotted the monstrously deformed figure kicking Soldier's prone body, but he didn't dare drop his burden. It would be unwise to do that to his employer. Her glare wasn't enough to silence his overactive mouth, however; he began to yatter incessantly. "Fuck, Soldier's down! Aw man, that fuckin' asshole is kicking his ass across the floor. I gotta get over there and stop Tex! Don't you guys got any stronger weapons in the airplane? Anything?"

On the opposite end of the makeshift stretcher, Miss Pauling's face paled with concern. "There's the GAU-4, but I've never used one before. It should be strong enough...No, it HAS to be- "

A drawn-out sigh of irritation from their mutual employer cut her off. "Miss Pauling, there is no doubt in my mind that the enemy intends to kill me if he can get near enough. Our first priority is getting me aboard the aircraft so he won't have the chance. Keep moving."

Scout wanted to scream at her, but he was more frightened of the injured woman than he was of that freaked-out whack job in the conservatory. As he helped to carry the Administrator further from the fight, he could feel his guts turning to ice. They began the treacherous ascent of the gangway, and Scout's desperation reached its peak. "So, that gun you mentioned? Where is it? Just point me to it! I can handle anything! Seriously, I'm the only one left to kill that guy. Gimme that 'gow' thing and lemme at him!"

Miss Pauling blanched. "You don't understand. The GAU-4 is too big for you to carry."

"I done pretty good so far, haven't I?!" A gunshot echoed from the other side of the aircraft. Scout had absolutely no idea what was happening, but he was imagining some pretty horrible possibilities. "Just lemme give it a try!"

On reaching the inside of the plane, they set down the wooden pallet and Miss Pauling helped the older woman to a chair. If the situation had been calmer, Scout would have probably commented on the lavish decor, but right now he was only interested in one thing- locating a weapon that could kill the bastard who was attacking his teammates.

"So where is it? Huh? C'mon, I've gotta kill that son of a bitch!" His search had proven fruitless thus far, forcing him to return to the women. The assistant was busy securing the door behind them, which left him with the daunting proposition of asking the Administrator. "You gotta give me that super gun already! She said it'd take care of Tex!"

"If I had any other option right now, I would eject you from this aircraft myself. Fortunately for you, desperate times call for desperate measures." The Administrator rubbed her temples, and let out a frustrated hiss of air through clenched teeth. "Miss Pauling, it's time you learned to operate the GAU-4. If need be, the boy here can feed you ammunition."

"Wait, what? I wa- " Scout began to object, but he got the impression that he was being ignored by plane's other occupants. Even purposefully dismissed.

Miss Pauling said, "Yes ma'am," and hurried on by in the cockpit's direction. She turned into a niche just before the front of the plane and hauled a series of sliding panels out of the way. Underneath was a small console and a mounted Vulcan machine gun set into the underbelly of the plane.

Scout, who had scrambled to catch up with her, stared in surprise at the weapon in question. "Are you really gonna' use that?" he blurted, finally understanding why they couldn't just hand it over to him.

She frowned, operating the console for a moment. More panels moved, and an opening appeared before the GAU-4's business end. The floor lurched, then the entire combat station shifted slightly, rotating to accommodate the machine gun's aim. "I'm going to try. If you want to make yourself useful, stay out of the way until I ask for you."

It was shocking enough for Scout to see the tiny woman using any gun, let alone a beast that outweighed even Heavy's beloved Sasha. He was dumbfounded briefly, then the reality of the situation came back to slap him in the face. His teammates were in trouble! Inside the aircraft as he was, Scout could as yet do nothing to help them. Practically tearing his close-cropped hair out, he bolted to the cockpit and resigned himself to watching over the pilot's shoulder. Through the windscreen, he saw something that gave him an inkling of hope.

* * *

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Sniper found himself awakening from one of Tex's knock-out blows. Sliding down the stairs on his face had left him a bit rattled, but as he began dragging himself up out of the rubble, he discovered that none of his important bones had broken in the fall. He couldn't say so much for his bleeding nose, which had taken on a new and interesting shape. Head-to-toe pain and dull nausea were not enough to keep him down. Grimacing at the taste of blood in his mouth, Sniper began to crawl up the stairs.

In the room above, Tex was pitching a certifiable temper-tantrum. Sniper had only caught a glimpse of the guy when he'd made the mistake of trying to help him up the stairs, but whatever the traitor had done to himself, he seemed to be stronger for it. (And bloody bulletproof... At least against a 9-mil parabellum. That's just what I need right now, a bleeding Ned Kelly to deal with. My submachine-gun was no good. Doubt if I can stab the bastard either. Unless there's a gap in his armor...)

Fresh anger bubbled in Sniper's throat as he reached the top of the stairs and peered at the scene. Tex wasn't satisfied with screaming and hollering. He was venting his rage by viciously kicking and stomping on Soldier, who was curled-up before him on the glass-strewn floor. It was hard to tell if the larger man was conscious, but Sniper was hoping on some level that he wasn't. Just watching the madman's display of violence was painful.

Something brushed lightly against Sniper's shoulder, and he jerked in surprise. A familiar voice whispered in his ear: "Keep quiet, tête carré. Unless you want dat guy to t'row you down da stairs again."

Although his morose look was lost in the shadows, Sniper glared at the BLU Spy all the same. "I'll pass. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Same t'ing as you. ...well, no. I'm planning. You're just hiding." In the shadows, Spy was completely invisible. It felt like Sniper was talking to a specter.

Sniper couldn't stomach cowering while a teammate was being savaged. Besides, once Tex got bored with Soldier- or killed him, and lost his body to respawn- Engineer and the last bodyguard would be natural targets for the deranged genius's frustration. "Well, I'm not going to just lie here while he's running roughshod over me mates. I just need to figure out how to kill him. Or keep him busy. Can't let him near me... Bastard knocked me down with something. I think it was some sort of shock prod."

The shadows gave him an understanding grunt. "I saw dat. He did da same t'ing to your jarhead. Dat weapon he's using has a little reach. Don't know how far. Small arms fire and buckshot just craters on him. What's your rifle use, .308?"

"Yeah. I could try linin' up a shot from here, but I'd rather have more distance between him an' me." Sniper reached back and slung the rifle off his back, grunting painfully from the effort. "If this doesn't work, he's gonna' come here and give both of us what Paddy gave the drum. You'd best split, if you're not about to make yourself useful."

A mere four meters from where they were hiding, Tex was taking a break from trampling the unconscious Soldier. He stood in amidst blood and broken glass, catching his breath. To Sniper, it looked like the man had cobbled himself together like some horrid golem. There were charred regions of his body that looked positively gruesome, even with the semi-opaque foil covering, but he hadn't sustained any individual wound that would kill a person. Pacing and turning under the floodlights, Tex's disfigured body was continuously caught between stark revelation and total obscurity. At one point, his back was illuminated. Sniper thought he saw a human hand embedded in the maniac's shoulder.

The cessation of Tex's ranting meant the men in the stairwell had to be much quieter or they'd be found out before either could do anything. While Sniper carefully lay out his rifle and prepared to take aim, he felt a faint gust and noted the chameleon had left his side. How the Canadian could cross the debris silently was anyone's guess. At that moment, Sniper had more important things to ponder.

As he lined up a shot for Tex's head, Sniper could hear the man hissing and growling to himself. "The plane. I've gotta go sabotage it. Rip out the landing gear... no- no, I need the plane. SHE'S the heart. Rip her out instead. Watch her heart beat in my hand. Dammit, if the mainframe wasn't down, Ah'd be able to reactivate my last sentries from here..."

It was senseless, really. Just the desperate scheming of a madman whose plans had gone awry, far beyond any eventuality he might have anticipated. Now Tex was going further down the rabbit-hole, grasping for purchase as his mind unraveled. The man's waning sanity didn't make him any less dangerous. On the contrary, he was probably more of a threat now that even he didn't know what he was going to pull next. Sniper didn't know if turning on the Administrator had been Tex's plan from the start, but he figured he'd worry about the madman's motivations at a more convenient time.

A sliver of glass tinkled against one of the remaining windows, drawing the maverick's attention. With his back to the alcove, the floodlights made Tex a shooting gallery silhouette. Twenty points for the center of mass, fifty points for the head. Sniper always aimed for the head. At the last second his grip wavered, and the laser sight cast its red bead on the window his target was studying. The man stiffened his posture. He had seen the light.

Sniper felt his stomach clench in alarm, but the rest of his body reacted with perfect control. He steadied the Model 82 then let out a slow breath, calmly squeezing the trigger.

"What the-" Tex started. A sharp "crack!" interrupted him, and he went to the floor like a sack of garbage. There was no satisfying spray of brain matter, but a fine spattering of blood appeared on the window he'd been facing.

Lurching to his feet, Sniper slung the rifle back over his shoulder and emerged to investigate the body. There was a faint sound as the BLU Spy decloaked, breathing a sigh of relief. He seemed more tentative about approaching Tex. Sniper growled, "Get your arse over here! I don't want to leave Soldier near this bastard. We've got to move him."

"I'm not being paid to help you fucking guys," Spy drawled, and spat a burned-up cigarette onto the debris-strewn floor. Nevertheless, he must have felt some sort of pity or gratitude for Sniper, because he shuffled over and stooped to grab Soldier's ankles. Noticing the manner in which the American's trousers had been changed to cut-off shorts, he gave a snorting chuckle. "What da hell happened to his pants?"

As he gripped Soldier under the arms and lifted, Sniper's entire body cried out in protest. The only answer he could muster for Spy was an irritated groan. They hauled the other mercenary outside and set him down by Engineer. With that taken care of, Sniper began the painful trudge back into the conservatory, lighting a cigarette with the shaking hands of an octogenarian. Spy followed him at a distance.

"Bloody coward," he grumbled under his breath. Tex was still a motionless heap, which was somewhat reassuring. On discovering that there really was a hand embedded in the madman's shoulder, Sniper had second thoughts about getting close to the guy. (No, I have to know if he's dead. Have to know if we're safe now.) Wincing in pain, he crouched down and studied the body.

Most of the traitor's clothing had been shed or burned away. The remainder hadn't impeded his curious transformation. What little hair he'd possessed was gone as well, leaving a roughened surface in its place. Tex's cranium was covered in a film of golden material, oddly translucent in some places. Sniper's bullet flattened on impact. It was now a small lead mushroom with a brass stalk embedded in the back of his skull.

Sniper picked the thing out of its crater. A bit of blood pooled where it had been, and the bushman realized his shot must have succeeded in penetrating Tex's armor. "Can't even begin to guess what this bastard did to himself... Oh well, I managed to punch a hole in his defense. That gold foil he's got on him is really tough. Wonder if it's made from Australium?"

Intrigued by the news that Tex had taken damage, Spy dared to come closer. "I'm sure someone can figure it out. Medic would probably love to dissect da guy. ...my team's medic, I mean. Well, probably yours too. Roll him over. You should check if he's still breathing."

"Would it kill you to do a little work?" Sniper gave his nemesis the evil eye. He kneeled carefully amidst the broken glass and heaved the misshapen figure onto its back. He couldn't stop himself from recoiling or giving a cry of disgust at the sight of Tex's face.

Sniper found his eyes drawn to the raw, red cavities in Tex's nose- metal had crept in around the edges of these perforations, forming a network of filaments that intermingled with the charred ruin of his mucus membranes. Metallic foil formed a lattice over the man's features, seemingly replacing skin that would have been badly damaged in the fire. Much of the external ear was burned away, and what remained had collapsed inwards, sealing over the earholes.

"Fuck! I thought I'd imagined that bloody mess," Sniper groaned. As the marksman paused to rub his eyelids, he once again found himself thinking of pulp horror stories. The sensation of prickling claws ran down his spine, conjuring awful images of ghouls, night gaunts and fungaloid crabs. (This is going to give me bloody nightmares, I know it is. Just like all the ones I used to have about the respawn system going haywire.)

Spy made a sound usually reserved for the onlookers of catastrophic car wrecks. "I've seen guys who looked dat bad before, but dey didn't survive long. Must've been one hell of an accident down in dat lab, eh?"

Tex's mouth hung slackly open. Against his better judgment, Sniper leaned in close to see if he could feel warm air coming from within. Although the rogue engineer's lips had been burned dry and then gilded, everything beyond them was unchanged. Despite his outward transformation, Tex still had the mouth of someone who hadn't brushed his teeth in weeks. While Sniper examined the Texan's golden death-mask for signs of life, he was assaulted by a hot, rather fetid breath of air. Turning his head to one side, he coughed and managed to choke out, "I think he's still breathing!"

Spy snapped, "So kill him! What da hell are you waiting for, a Goddamn engraved invitation?"

The BLU agent's remark was met with another irate growl from Sniper. "I can't snake my bloody rifle down his gullet! Here, if you're worried about getting your hands dirty, lend me that Browning. I'll finish him off. His mouth ain't bulletproof."

"I'm not giving you my gun! Hmph, crisse des REDs..." As Spy circled around to Tex's right side so as to deliver the coup de grace, the American's face tensed into a furious scowl. His hand shot up instantly and clamped around Sniper's throat; before the Australian had a chance to struggle, Tex smashed him into the filthy floor. Thoroughly rattled, Spy backed up to a safe distance and started considering alternative plans.

When he lifted his head and spoke, Tex sounded a little slurred. "Ah've got 'n awful bad headache... Wazzat you, y'mangy son of a bitch?!" If the bullet had done any serious damage to his brain, it had failed to keep him down. Grinning at his victim, he sneered, "I'll teach you t'ambush me, peckerhead. Watchin' you die is gonna be reeeeeal satifyin'."

Sniper writhed under his grasp, snarling and snapping like a chained animal. He smashed every part of Tex he could reach with his boot-heels. Both of Sniper's hands were clawing to dislodge the enemy's iron grip; for a brief second in which he pried the thumb off his trachea. Sniper gasped for air, knowing the small breath wouldn't sustain him for long. With every cell in his body screaming out for oxygen, Sniper couldn't fight like this much longer.

Tex tightened his hold on the Australian's neck and tried to avoid the clumsy assault, growling in pain with each blow he suffered. "Useta strangle critters like you. Squeeze 'em til their eyes popped out." He slammed Sniper's head into the corner of a low table, his eyes wild with rage and excitement. "That's all y'are at the end of the day, ya snarlin' dog. Just another helpless critter. Them crooked teeth of yer's have no bite, boy."

Throughout this, Spy hadn't been noticed. He used that to his advantage. The crater on the left side of Tex's skull would have been a good target, had he been perfectly still. Spy couldn't aim that fast, though, and he knew that time was running out. (Goddammit! If I had a heftier weapon like that Force-a-Nature, I'd at least be able to knock his ass to the ground.) He brooded, watching as Tex wrestled out from under Sniper's heels and rose from the floor. The bushman's struggles were much weaker. All he could manage was scrabbling at Tex's hand, his purple-tinged lips twisted into a grimace.

Spy realized that he didn't need a scattergun to clobber Tex with raw kinetic force. Even in its devastated condition, the conservatory was still stocked with a workshop's worth of heavy tools and furniture. Spy grabbed a wheeled chair. Summoning all his strength, he gave the object a mighty swing and lobbed it at Tex. It collided with the madman's spine; completely unprepared for such an attack, Tex was thrown off his feet and went crashing down on top of his victim.

Tex's grip slackened just enough for Sniper to wrench the hand from his throat. Coughing and gagging, he squirmed out from beneath the other man. He rolled onto his belly, hitching in choked breaths to restore his waning consciousness. Beside him, Tex groaned and began to stir.

Seeing that maverick was nearly still, Spy now took his Browning and aimed carefully for the bullseye Sniper had created. Tex reached up to clutch the back of his head just then, inadvertently protecting the breach in his armor. A jolt of alarm shot through Spy. He couldn't afford to lose this chance. On spotting an upside-down table, he realized that once again, the best weapon with reach was going to be furniture. Spy scooted over and wrapped his hands around the cool metal legs, then heaved the whole thing up off the floor. He staggered forwards and slammed its flat top down onto Tex. Spy was rewarded with a gurgle of pain, and he repeated the action several more times.

Barely clear of the weaponized table, Sniper struggled to his knees. His breath came hoarsely, every gasp of air accompanied by a loud rattle. He was smeared with blood, but the countless bleeding wounds were little more than scratches. Frowning at the mess he'd made of himself, he took a deep breath and lurched to his feet, giving a faint groan as dizziness washed over him. When he spoke, he sounded like someone with shards of glass in his throat; his voice came out halting and pained. "Agh... ah God. G-gonna need a week's rest... after this. Think y' hurting him, spook?"

"Fuck, I hope so," came the weary reply. The table fell for the last time and lay there upside down, on top of the enemy. Sore and weak with exhaustion, Spy's arms flopped down at his side, he stepped back and caught his breath. "You wanna try pinning him down? His mout' and da hole in his head are da best targets we've got. Put a couple rounds in dere, and I'm pretty sure he won't be getting up."

The table shuddered, a sign that Tex was already regaining his senses. Sniper gave a painful cough, then shook his head, eyebrows knitted in concern. "We're not strong enough. Agh... when he choked me, didn't feel right... never felt the like before..."

"What, you get strangled on a regular basis, tête carré? I didn't know your Spy was into dat." The BLU agent grinned perversely, watching Sniper's face redden with anger.

"I'm not involved w- Gah, why the hell'm I even... arguing about this?" Trying to calm his temper, he huffed and pointed towards the shifting table. "Bastard's stronger'n he looks. Could've crushed my neck... to th' width of a bloody carrot."

Although tempted to continue needling his rival, Spy's focus returned to the present. "Well how about we pile a bunch of shit on top of dat table and just keep heaping on more until we see his guts oozing out from underneat'?"

For all the contempt he directed at Spy, Sniper wouldn't ignore a good plan. "Right," he snapped and began dumping nearby objects onto the table. Tools, twisted metal, furniture- anything they could lift was thrown on top of the maniac. A crunching sound came from beneath the pile. Sniper paused, his breath ragged. His eyes widened as the heap of objects began shifting. A moment later, the stacked debris went flying in all directions as Tex threw off his burden. The other two men scrambled away, leaving their opponent in the center of the room.

Tex bellowed, "Come outta hiding, ya fuckin' cowards! Damn you!"

The Texan's spine had been crudely adjusted during the others' attempt to crush him. He now stood hunched like Quasimodo, looking even more gnarled than before. Turning around in search of his attackers, Tex turned his back to the floodlights. From his hiding place Sniper, could see something that vexed him, even more than weariness and pain. On the left side of Tex's occipital plate, a black, bulging scab had formed over the gunshot wound, its revolting surface scintillating with flecks of Australium.

Sniper bit his tongue hard to keep himself from cursing loudly. Crouched behind a heap of scrap metal, he lowered his head and spat out a glob of bloody drool, then struggled to plan his next move. (Oh, this is a real piece of piss. Where did everyone else disappear to? I don't think we can take this freak, not just the two of us. We need someone with more firepower, something that'll shoot more bullets harder than anything either of us has. What the fuck are we going to do?)

Through the myriad broken windows, a mechanical whine pierced the night. The sound was curiously reminiscent of something, but Sniper couldn't quite recall what. (It can't be the jet getting ready to take off, or we'd be getting another bloody windstorm right now.) He wasn't the only one feeling curious. As he peered out from his hiding place, Sniper could see that Tex had turned to look at the aircraft. The little man suddenly emitted a weird shriek and lunged away like his ass had caught fire.

A split second later, a torrent of gunfire gushed through the window in search of the madman. Tiles became glassy shrapnel, metalworking tools and furniture were chewed up instantly, while the hardest debris sent deadly ricochets hurling off in all directions. The barrage followed Tex for a few meters as he ran, destroying everything in its path. Then whirring stopped as suddenly as it had began, leaving the conservatory's occupants cowering in the wreckage.

Lying face-down on the floor, Sniper had traded dignity for life and limb. While he began picking himself up, a second, unexpected noise came to his ears. It was a voice, slightly distorted through the P.A. system.

Scout's voice.

At a volume that was almost ear-splitting, he shouted, "Whooo, fuckyeah! THAT'S what I'm talkin' about!"

Sniper never thought he'd feel so reassured to hear his youngest teammate's dulcet tones.

* * *

The conservatory's occupants were huddled among the scarred debris, listening for any sound that could betray someone's position. Background conversation was briefly heard over the public address, but nobody could discern who the voices belonged to, or what they were saying.

Then Scout gave another call, one less bombastic and triumphant than the last. "Fuck, are you guys still alive out there? You didn't get hit, did ya? Uh, anyhow, we need you guys to keep that motherfucker in the greenhouse. Knock him down again, hold him in place, doesn't matter how you do it. Just pin him for as long as it takes us ta turn him into Swiss cheese." As if in afterthought, he added, "...shit. Tex woulda heard all of that, too."

For the BLU Team's Spy, Scout's words were of no help. If he had known beforehand that the room was going to be sprayed by an autocannon, he would have scrambled for the nearest window. There was nowhere safe for him to hide from ricochets- even less so when the bullets were long as a cigarette and thicker than a man's thumb. It was by chance that Sniper survived the barrage unscathed, but Spy's luck had finally run out. As he scrambled to pull himself up, he caught a glimpse of a gaping wound in his left lung.

The bullet had penetrated his ribcage as though he were made of cardboard, tunneling directly through his chest before exiting out his back. Spy turned his head away and grimaced, feeling his gorge rise. (I can't just lie here and die. There's still work to be done. Still have to kill that maniac.) The dispenser that Demoman left to get was like a forgotten promise. It was as useless to him as a dead unicorn's horn.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was turning grey all around him. (Not a good sign. I don't even know if I can talk right now. Perhaps it would be better if I don't come out. If Tex knows I'm dead, he'll know we've lost the advantage of numbers.) Sounds of people clambering around in the wreckage caught his attention. Spy wondered if Tex would make a break for it, hide in the lab or some godforsaken spot in the jungle. The airplane's mounted machinegun wouldn't reach him in there. Sure enough, he spotted a hunched figure crawling over broken glass, furtively plotting a course towards the alcove. Using the last of his strength, Spy drew in a painful breath, then shouted as loudly as he possibly could. "He's headed for da stairs!"

The effect of his words was instantaneous, but Spy wouldn't be able to watch what he had started. As his voice died out, a surge of vomit followed, bubbly and crimson. Choking on his own blood, he collapsed and clutched at his throat, wracked with agony. Too weak to cough up the fluid pooling in his remaining lung, he bled out amongst the piled wreckage. Thoughts oozed around in his skull, and he tried to focus on them. It would be a better way to pass his last few moments than writhing from the terrible pain he was feeling.

(Goddammit, I really thought I'd make it through this. That bitch, she'd better not declare this a loss for BLU... It wasn't the enemy that got me. It was one of her own damn people!) Even after his teammates were dispatched, Spy had survived in the jungle through his guile and ruthless determination. When the grim situation had become clear to him, he even did what was unthinkable- he allied with the REDs to combat the renegade faction. Completing this mission was all that mattered to Spy. From shirking open fights to saving the RED sniper's life, everything he did was to prolong his time in the field. In his eye, the BLU team's success or failure had become his burden, his responsibility.

Darkness closed in around him, and he felt as though his consciousness was rising up from the ruined husk of his body, leaving his pain behind. Before he surrendered to the respawn system's clutches, one last thought coalesced in his mind. It was sharp, gleaming and crystal clear, a shard of broken glass. (I went through so much bullshit, just to be finished off by friendly fire... ugh, now it's up to that RED sniper. You'd better finish him off for me, square-head!)

* * *

There was no easy way for Sniper to contact the people inside the aircraft, but he hoped they were watching closely. He listened quietly, studying the debris for signs of movement. A hoarse shout broke his concentration- it was Spy's last hue and cry, which was followed by wet coughing. Now that Sniper knew where Tex was headed, he was sure to pick up the pace. Sniper could not let him escape.

"Right! We're ending this now!" he barked. Experiencing what must have been his seventh or eighth wind, he lunged towards the alcove, vaulting over ruined machining tools and jagged metal debris. Not far off, he could hear Tex scuttling across the floor, lurking in the shadows like a giant cockroach.

The P.A. system screeched with feedback, causing Sniper to cringe. The racket was followed by a different kind of obnoxious noise. "Hey! You tryin' ta get him in position there, Sniper? We can't hear ya up here, so just wave for 'yes'."

Sniper raised one hand and waved it around. He was looking at the floor, trying to pinpoint Tex's location. Another distorted ghost-conversation could be heard, background conversation finding its way onto the microphone. Sniper ignored it. The scrabbling of Tex's approach was getting nearer, and he knew things were coming down to one last, deadly gamble.

"You're not gettin' through, ya bastard," Sniper rumbled, glaring at the wreckage heaps nearby. Tex was lurking behind one, doubtlessly preparing for his next move. (Where the hell has Spy gone?! This would be a lot easier if he were here to help me pin this yobbo down.) His frown deepened as the situation curdled in his mind. (...bloody Spy. Maybe he's hid. It's suicide they're asking of us... Christ...)

The mad genius emitted a raspy chuckle. "Ah've been goin' easy on y'all, but you've pushed me too far. You wanna' dance, pretty boy? When Ah toss you down those stairs this time, you're not gonna be gettin' up..."

Sniper spotted movement in the nearest substantial debris heap and narrowed his eyes. The air conditioner formed the largest identifiable object in the pile. It was slowly rising, then tilting, as though someone were trying to get a grip on the thing's undercarriage. (Why in the hell would he be- )

Before he could finish asking himself, the answer came to him. Shards of rubble scattered as Tex hefted the AC unit into his arms, handling the weight as though it were nothing. With a loud war-whoop, Tex hurled the appliance at Sniper's head. He yelped in blind panic and threw himself to the floor, cringing while the air conditioner rocketed past. A gust followed in the unit's wake, tousling his dirty mane. (Oh Christ, that was a close call. Nearly lost my head there. ...why the fuck isn't that spy here to help me?!)

Perhaps Tex had anticipated things might turn out this way, or perhaps he didn't care about the miss. Either way, he chased his projectile towards the alcove, paying no attention to the state of his enemy. Hissing obscenities under his breath, Sniper saw what the man was up to. When Tex tried to charge past him, he launched himself at his opponent's legs, knocking the maniac clear off the ground.

Outside, a mechanical whine could be heard once again. The GAU-4 was spinning up.

Tex took the same path as the A.C. unit, flying over Sniper's head and performing a belly-flop onto the floor. Moving through air that felt thick as molasses, the Australian turned to face the other way and pounced, landing on Tex's back. The maverick clambered up on hands and knees, thrashing wildly in an attempt to shake him off. He kicked Tex's arms out from underneath him, pinning them under a pair of well-worn boots.

Adrenaline stampeded through Sniper's system, igniting his blood and filling his belly with animal fury. He clutched Tex's neck, riding out the man's struggle with an iron will. Tex stamped at Sniper's ankles, drawing a sharp cry of pain from the Australian. Nonetheless, he held fast. Sniper's only advantage over Tex was his experience with wrestling wild beasts; man-eating tigers and crocodiles that could break your neck with a few good shakes. Even then, he didn't know how long his skill would trump Tex's strength.

(...Not gonna last unless I can get that shock prod off his arm. Where's my bloody backup?!) Beneath him, Tex was saying nasty things about everyone Sniper had ever known, and a number of other people he hadn't. The crazed genius had clearly never learned to wrestle, but he was giving Sniper a run for his money through raw power alone. From somewhere outside, the sound of shouting joined the mini-tat's whine. Sniper barely noticed. It was taking all his strength to hold firm, not only in regards to keeping Tex pinned down, but in his resolve as well. (Any second now... come on...)

The anticipation was almost as bad as the actual sensation of being pulverized by heavy weapons fire. Footsteps reached his ears now, crunching over foliage and snapping branches, tempting him to lift his focus from the dangerous killer. A familiar voice bellowed, "What the hell're ye doin', Mundy?! Get away from that- fook, what IS that blasted thing?!" Only then did he lose his nerve and take a frantic look around, trying to locate the source of the noise.

It was his Demoman.

Sniper spotted him by the door with a metal contraption in his arms, Andy in tow. Demoman seemed to be surprised as he was. Feeling a pang of wild alarm, he blurted, "DeGroot! Stay back! It's- "

The GAU-4 cut off his words. It hosed down the alcove with a torrent of 20mm calibre death, turning the niche into a bloodbath. Cement and tile exploded in a hail of sharp fragments. Sniper was instantly torn to pieces, bones splintering and flesh turning to red mist, as he was struck by bullets intended for use against light armoured vehicles. His disintegrating body did nothing to shield Tex against the onslaught; Tex's Australium skin ruptured under the autocannon's punishing force, splitting like an apple peel. If the tissue underneath had been empowered in his transformation, it made little difference in keeping him intact.

It only took a few seconds for the machine-gun to pulverize both men, and propel their remains down into the stairwell. Sniper was soon claimed by respawn, but that luxury was not extended to Tex. His wretched carcass tumbled to a stop in the laboratory's open door, then lay there, twitching feebly- a grisly prize, waiting for the next unfortunate soul to descend the bloody staircase.

* * *

Demoman stood by the door, staring at the gruesome scene and trying to make sense of what he was watching. He might have stood longer, but the jury-rigged dispenser was heavy and taxing his arms. Still feeling confounded- not to mention, horrified- by the turn that things had taken, he wrenched his gaze from the alcove and tried to locate the injured men. (They were right over there! What in the bloody hell happened while I was away?)

"Hey!" Andy's shouts reached Demoman's ears, but it took longer to reach his brain. "They moved the injured guys outside! Get your ass over here!"

Realizing what Andy had been yelling about, Demoman turned from the conservatory and staggered over to where Engineer and the dying bodyguard lay. Soldier had been added to the list of wounded, while the Administrator was nowhere to be seen. A grunt of pain escaped him as he leaned over and set the machine down by the guard, his back creaking audibly. "Ah dinnae know how well it'll work for Her Majesty's royal guard. He got th'worse of it. We'd best make sure these other poor bastards are near enough they'll be healed, too."

Andy groaned and fidgeted, clearly anxious about something. "Where's the Administrator?! Oh man, we gotta' get this thing to her or my ass is grass. S-She couldn't have gotten wasted, could she? I mean, she's a tough fuckin' broad, but she's gotta know when to run. Hey, speakin' of running, where's Dumbass and Miss Pauling?"

As if answering his question, the voice of Scout suddenly came to them over the P.A. system. "Hey, we're comin' out. Clear some room around that healin' rig. The Administrator needs it." He sounded unusually disheartened, his voice quiet even through electronic amplification.

"Scout?! Are you lot up in that beast of an airplane?!" Demoman realized a moment later that Scout probably couldn't hear him from down on the ground. Grumbling, he turned his attention to the wounded.

The bodyguard was still breathing, which was the best one could say for him. On the other side of the dispenser, Engineer was starting to look less like an overcooked slab of meat. He stirred faintly as the dispenser did its work, groaning in pain. Although his face was resting in a ring of cloth, his eyes were uncovered. They opened a crack. After clearing his throat, he spoke in a voice that was roughened by smoke. "Is that you there, Tavish? Oh Lord, that blast musta' got me good."

Demoman gasped faintly and kneeled beside him, peering at the visible half of his face. "Don't speak, mate. You'll be patched up soon. Just save your strength for now." He wanted to give Engineer a pat on the shoulder, but the skin there was rather tender. A reassuring grin was probably his best bet. The corner of Engineer's eye creased slightly, the ghost of a smile. Nearby, Soldier began coming around, his loud mouth quick to ramble incoherently.

"...son of a bitch, I'll show you who's a goddamn fighter, and who's..." A coughing fit interrupted Soldier's semi-conscious tirade. As he managed to catch his breath again, his eyelids flickered. He grimaced in pain. "Where'd that freak of nature go? Is he- urgh, is he still around here?"

"Soldier?" Realizing that the man in question had been present for the fight, Demoman turned to him and asked, "What in the bloody hell happened? The first thing Ah saw comin' back here was- " Demoman's voice stuck in his throat as he remembered what he had seen. Blood and viscera was scattered around the mouth of the stairwell, painting the broken tiles red. That hail of bullets had reduced the man to pulp, a stain on the landscape. Demoman thanked God for the respawn system, whisking away Sniper's remains to be made whole again. He couldn't stand thinking that the last place he'd see his drinking buddy would be sprayed across the floor.

Soldier didn't wait for Demoman to find his voice, recounting the terrible incident that had taken place- the part that he'd been conscious for, anyway. "That cowardly pack of traitors had one last cheap trick to pull on us. Their Engineer is some kind of bulletproof zombie! He came up from below, pretending to be a wounded man. When Sniper went to help, that creepy bastard threw him down the Goddamn stairs! None of our weapons could kill the zombie-man, so I held him off while Scout and Miss Pauling got the wounded out of there."

That left Demoman with a few answers, and a lot more questions than before. Rubbing his one good eyelid, he took a deep breath and tried to sort his thoughts. "Ah think Ah saw the monster you're talkin' about, but only for a moment. Sniper was wrestlin' him over there. ...Then the folks up in the airplane blew both of 'em away wi' some great bloody machinegun."

"Oh, no... Mundy..." Engineer squeezed his eyes shut. He sagged despondently, giving a hoarse groan. Grasping for threads of optimism, he sighed, "At least it was a quick death. ...I hope he can get back here without much trouble."

Soldier was more positive about the departure of their sharpshooter- or rather, in light of Tex's demise, Sniper made an acceptable sacrifice. "Good. It's about time we had some positive news! I always heard Australians are supposed to be good at wrestling dangerous animals, but I never knew Sniper had that kind of testicular fortitude!"

While they discussed the incident, scuffing footsteps could be heard. The Administrator was on her way over, carried by Miss Pauling and Scout. At the sight of them, Andy squirmed nervously and tried to make himself inconspicuous. Whether it was his upbringing or the time he'd spent on the island, he had an ability that was unusual among most Scouts: when his life was in danger, he could keep quiet.

Scout greeted his teammates as best he could manage. "Ah, h-hey guys." The restorative power from his nap had been sucked dry by this last trial. With no hot shower, fresh food, or comfy bed in his near future, he had been pushed into the sulking zone once again. After the Administrator was situated by the dispenser, he sat amongst the wounded and slouched forwards, propping his chin on his knees.

"Mr. Mundy... I can't believe I shot him," Miss Pauling sighed, and set to work examining the bodyguard. When he heard her comment, Demoman came to the wide-eyed realization that she had been the machinegun operator. He glanced at the small woman, trying to imagine her at the controls of an autocannon. However she managed the feat, something seemed to have left a bad taste in her mouth; both she and Sniper must have known how the manoeuvre would play out, but perhaps she was more sympathetic than anyone guessed. Her brow was faintly creased, her shoulders sagging as she glanced over at the Administrator. "How long will it be until the helicopters arrive, ma'am?"

All of the mercenaries stared at their employer. The prospect of getting a medivac seemed too good to be true, but nobody wanted to jinx it by asking. Coolly smoking a cigarette as her burns faded, the Administrator wasn't in a hurry to answer. After letting her men dangle for a few moments, she spoke. "Not soon enough. Forty-five minutes or so. I requisitioned the BLU's remaining S-61R. It's considerably larger than ones RED was using. Their Huey will take care of the mercenaries."

A sigh of relief rose from the group, aside from Soldier. He was positively livid. "What?! I don't want that dirty BLU spy in one of OUR choppers! Where is he, anyhow?"

"By now? Teufort," the Administrator said, and sniffed irritably. "His life signs vanished from the monitor during that last fight."

Scout looked over at the two women, frowning pensively. "Hey, what about Tex? I just remembered, that creepy motherfucker said you guys were probably tracking his team, too. He couldn't have survived gettin' shot by that huge fuckin' gun, right?"

"Him and yous guys' Sniper got shot to shit, man. I was right by the door when it happened, I saw it! You can go downstairs and look if you ain't too chickenshit, but I fuckin' guarantee that he was in pieces when you guys were done with him." Andy was adamant that his deranged teammate had finally been killed, his conviction spilling over into his words.

The Administrator frowned. "There may have been interference from that, hm... Australium 'skin' he was wearing. But our instruments reported the man as being dead."

On hearing the Administrator's comment, Engineer sat bolt-upright. "What'd ya say? Ma'am, are you... d'ya mean ta say that mad-dog sonnova bitch stuck himself in that machine?" On sitting up, the others were suddenly able to see his face, and a few gave him weird looks. He didn't notice. When Sniper found him in the lab, the marksman's eyes had played no tricks- Engineer really did have a moustache now.

"I believe so. Small arms fire had no effect on him. Mr. Tex must have been maimed in that explosion, but he was lively enough to come back from the dead and attack my men." The Administrator's customary frown deepened.

"Like that dead man's hand..." Engineer was deeply troubled by this news.

Engineer's cryptic statement wasn't reassuring. After the mercenaries traded confused looks, equally uncertain about the conversation and Engineer's facial hair, Demoman decided to speak up. He grunted, "You're no' makin' sense, mate. What's all this mean for us? Did ye find a hand of glory down in the Administrator's treasure trove?"

Engineer opened his mouth and started talking, then paused to consider his words. It would be better to discuss the lab incident at a later date and stick to information that was useful for the time being. "Ah don't know what it means for us, but... This could be bad. Look, we've gotta go down there and make damn sure that guy really did shuffle off his mortal coil."

The rabble broke out into a loud, confused discussion. Raising his voice above the rest, Andy blurted, "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? I tell ya, I saw Tex- "

Soldier cut him off by clamping a big hand over his mouth, adding a touch of the evil eye for good measure. "Engie, you're the smartest man here. I trust you more than... hell, everyone else in the world. So if there's a chance I'll have to tangle with this guy again, you have to tell me: how the hell am I supposed to kill him? And when did you grow a-"

"Ah don't know," Engineer interrupted Soldier's second question without thinking. It was clear that he had already relapsed into his chronic medical condition. It was a mental state that his teammates called 'inventor's tunnel vision'. As he wracked his brain for ideas, his ability to hear, see, or smell the world around him always diminished. Dangerously so, sometimes. "If we're lucky, he's dead. I wouldn't put money on it, though. Still, it seems y'all had a big enough gun ta pierce his skin. So if he's still alive, he'll be covered in vulnerable spots. Hell, he coulda bled out by now! ...Have ta wonder if the Australium woulda' affected the inside of his body."

"Ah'll take care of that Tex fellow. If he lives, Ah'd like him tae answer somethin' for me." Demoman got to his feet and took a deep breath. He hadn't forgotten his last chat with the Colonel, what the man told him about the murdered clansman. He was finally starting to understand the ominous feeling that dogged him, the sense that something was compelling him towards something. "Whatever shenanigans he pulled on the lot of you, Ah dinnae think he'll be much danger if he's in pieces. We can stuff him in a box an' throw it in the bleedin' ocean! Who's comin' with me?"

"I'll go," growled Soldier, lurching into an upright position. "It's my duty to dispense righteous ass-beatings on anyone who messes with my team!" Beside him, Engineer began to rise from the ground, but he stopped the shorter man. They hovered for a moment, each one staring into the other's face and blurting the first words of an argument. Slowly, Engineer backed down, his instincts pulling ihm into a passive state. Soldier swallowed the knot in his throat, feeling the same painful tug. "Engie, I just can't-"

Engineer looked strangely calm for a change, and gently patted Soldier's arm. "Nah, Ah getchya. You go on ahead with Demoman, Sarge. Ah'll wait 'til Ah'm healed up."

Of all people, Andy joined the volunteers. "I'll go to, j-just in case. In case Tex is alive. Down there. Got a few words for that motherfucker, too."

The Administrator was back to talking on her handheld set, and barely seemed to acknowledge their plans. Although she was tending the unconscious guard, Miss Pauling had been listening. She took a second to look up from her patient, and smiled faintly. "Be careful, guys."

Puffing his chest up, Soldier said, "We're soldiers, Miss Pauling! Trained killers! You don't have to worry one hair on your head, we can handle anyth- "

A worried frown creased her feminine features. "I mean it. I'm not a mechanic, but I don't think that improvised dispenser is going to last much longer."

There was a similar expression on Engineer's face, but he spared them any further nagging. While the others readied their weapons, Demoman shot their concerned companions a grim smile. "We'll watch our feet, Miss. And ye know Ah would nae do anything ye would nae do, Engie. You just worry 'bout gettin' your strength back." With a quick salute, Demoman turned to leave with the other two men.

The intangible presence was at his side once more, urging him to hurry.


	21. Reconnaitre

(_Author's note: It's been... wow, a few months. I apologize for the gap, I've been ill since the fall, and I'm just getting myself together again now. This is a short chapter; there's more in the wings, but I'm still hashing it out._)

* * *

His teammates were still out there.

Sniper leaned against the wall, lips clamped around a freshly lit cigarette one he'd borrowed from someone's locker in 2Fort's respawn room. The smoke was acrid on the way down, but pleasantly warm once it hit his newly-reconstituted lungs. The nicotine seeping into Sniper's bloodstream was a welcome guest, but barely enough to mend his frayed nerves. A shiver swept through him, tugging sinew along the way and making his joints twitch. He scowled, then took another irritated drag. Wasn t he fine? Hadn t respawn revived him in one piece? Even if Teufort s computers stitched him together perfectly, it hadn t wiped the fatigue from his mind. Nausea bubbled up through his body, then settled uneasily. His eyes burned from dehydration and weariness. He couldn t rest here. Not while his teammates were a couple thousand miles away.

After sucking his stolen cigarette down to the filter, he reached for the phone the RED base's connection to the "civilian" world. He flopped open a thick phonebook, grimacing as he tried to focus, to ignore the scenes that kept lighting up his mind like a flashbulb. A startlingly clear view of his torso as it dissolved into red rain. Tex's pitted, leprous nose and foul breath. Crawling through the shadows of the basement's abattoir, choking on urgency and the stench of death as he listened to Scout's hysterical shrieking.

There would be time for thinking about that later. After securing a taxi ride to Teufort, a car from the rental joint there, and a flight from Sky Harbour to Nassau, Sniper was ready to hit the road. It took him less than five minutes to throw together bare necessities and burst out the front door of Teufort s base. He jogged down to the gated entrance of RED base's main road, then waited by a lonely streetlight for his cab.

Sniper could see the taxi coming a long way off. When it pulled over, he realized there was another passenger in the front. This scenario sent a twinge of apprehension through his guts, but he hailed the driver and climbed into the back seat.

"Take me ta the Rent-a-Car in town," Sniper drawled. As he caught the scent of smoke from the front of the cab, he wished badly for another cigarette.

The driver chuckled. "You too, buddy? I guess that's both of ya, then."

Inconspicuously as he could manage, Sniper peered through the darkness at the rear-view mirror. The other passenger's face was shadowed, but as they passed a couple lampposts, Sniper caught a glimpse of a pinstriped sleeve. A blue, pinstriped sleeve, ending in a black leather glove.

Even though he was already expecting this, he still felt his heart skip a beat. (My God, that's why he wasn't helping me. He must have died before I did. Wonder if I should say something... No. Neither of us is expecting any favours. We're both professionals, doing our jobs.) Sniper let himself sag against the backrest and tried to stifle a yawn. He failed, pledging to himself to pull in at the first 24-hour truck stop he could find and grab something quick. (Coffee and biscuits ought to keep me going. Amphetamines would be better. Maybe caffeine pills...)

The ride to town wasn't long, but it gave Sniper more free time than he had wanted. He found himself thinking of his team, back on the island. (They're probably sweeping up the mess right now... Christ, I hope Engineer's not too upset. Or Scout, for that matter. Poor kid's been shaken up since we were taken prisoner.) Remembering their conversation in the kitchen, Sniper suddenly found his eyes were stinging. He lifted his glasses for a moment and rubbed his eyelids, then took a deep, slow breath. (I've got to get back there as soon as possible.)

The second they pulled up to the rental joint, the passenger in front handed over a wad of bills, then hurried away without a word. Sniper was feeling less sharp, and it took him a moment to get his fare together. At that point, the gloved man was long gone.

Walking across the lot, Sniper found the owner stuffing another generous tip into his pockets, and doing his best to look awake. "You with that other guy? I'm surprised you two didn't just rent one car and go together."

Sniper grimaced a bit, then pretended it was a bright light in his eyes. 'That other guy' had just started his car, and soon drove off into the night. "Nah, I don't know him. Reckon it's just a coincidence. Here's..." He paused and counted out the bills, double-checking just to be sure. "Six-hundred in all. Two-fifty for the car, the rest for you bein' up at this hour and renting it t'me."

The owner accepted payment, and handed Sniper a set of keys, yawning explosively. "There you go, Limey. It's the red one, just under that streetlamp. Be careful out there! I always say, driving at night's more dangerous."

On any other day, Sniper would have considered violence as a proper reaction to the guy's mistake on his heritage, but right now he was just itching to get on the road. "Right, I'll keep me eyes open. At least the only other bloke on the road at this hour will be that mystery man..."  
_

Hours later, the sun was rising up from the Atlantic ocean, bringing another beautiful day to the tiny islands that studded the Caribbean, glinting in first light. Even trapped in a aisle seat, Sniper could see the eastern horizon lit up in pink fire. Other passengers who had appeared like corpses in the gloom, now came to life in the sunlight's eerie glow. He groaned and craned his neck, leaning over another passenger and glancing out the window as long as he dared. The man in the window seat snuffled and moved a bit, but didn't awaken.

"...red sky at morning," Sniper muttered, and slouched back in his seat. As he budied himself lighting up a cigarette, the phrase nagged at him. Red sky... was that good or bad? He couldn't remember.

To the left of Sniper, the sleeping man tugged his obnoxiously floral shirt closed, and murmured, "Sailors take warning."

"Wot?" The marksman straightened up a bit, looking at his seat-mate. Sniper hadn't seen the man until boarding at Miami. He couldn't place the man's nationality, but the shorts and loud shirt were the marks of a tourist. American would seem the obvious answer, but the passenger's pallor was unusual, even for winter. (Well, he sounds American. He's probably just a suit, works in an office all day. That'd explain the lack of tanning.)

Running a hand through his black comb-over, the tourist looked up at Sniper. His expression was fatigued, another victim of jet lag no doubt, but he gave a bit of a grin. "Ain't you ever heard that before, pal? It goes 'Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.' Y'know, 'cause it means the weather's gonna be good or bad. I dunno if you can predict the weather, but I tell ya- any time there's a gorgeous sunrise on Cape Cod, we get a hell of a thunder storm."

Sniper's mouth hung open a bit as he tried to catch up with the tourist's words. Rescuing his cigarette before it could fall, he finally found his voice. "Oh, r- right. Now I get what you're sayin'. ...you'll hafta pardon my sluggishness, mate; it's been 'bout thirty-six hours since I got any real sleep."

"Yeah, I getchya. This travellin' really wears a guy out." The tourist leaned back in his seat and yawned loudly, making only a lazy attempt to cover his mouth. "Say, y'think you could spare a cigarette for a man in need? I musta' run out during that last layover, and I- I ain't ready to go cold turkey, not when I'm on the way to the sunny south."

"Well... bah, why not?" Normally Sniper would have refused, but he found himself strangely agreeable to giving this total stranger a free smoke. The man's New England drawl was friendly and relaxed, despite the dark bags under his eyes. Maybe he was taking the long haul better than Sniper. (Maybe he hasn't been fighting in a bloody jungle for the past two days,) Sniper thought ruefully. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a hiss of air between his teeth, struggling to prop up his waning consciousness. As he finished his own cigarette, the plane lurched, then assumed a rougher version of its previous vibrations.

Beside him, the tourist grimaced with the effort of staying in his chair. A stewardess spoke over the tannoy system, advising the passengers to strap in and prepare for some turbulence. "Well, ain't that just typical... you know they won't hand out breakfast until we're out of this rough patch. And to think, I was lookin' forwards to stale toast and eggs that musta' come from a rubber chicken."

"Don't think I'd dare try to eat anything with this turbulence," Sniper grunted, his mouth tensed in a thin, straight line. "I knew I should've brought along mother's little helpers, or... or something to just put me down for the whole flight. These airplanes are rubbish for getting any real sleep."

"What, you get airsick or somethin'?" The tourist laughed uneasily, then started rifling through his pockets.

Sniper wasn't really paying close attention, but a moment later the man pushed something into his hand. "Huh? What's this?" he asked, accepting the offering with a confused expression.

The tourist gave a faint grin. "Dramamine. ...think of it as payback for the cigarette. I hate ta owe anyone favours for long, anyhow."

"Too right. ...thanks, mate," Sniper said quietly, and dry-swallowed the pills. Something about that brief flash of other man's teeth was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Where had he seen that smile before? (I must be thinking of a movie star, or something. Just a coincidence.)

A plume of cigarette smoke curled up from the depths of his lungs, and he slumped as far back as he could manage in an airplane seat. Despite the rocky movement of the aircraft, Sniper slowly began feeling more relaxed. He was a lone wolf by nature, whose conversations with strangers usually consisted of taciturn grunts. So Sniper was surprised to realize that he was glad for the some company.

Peering out the corner of his eye, Sniper took a surreptitious look at the other passenger. In his muddled state, he couldn't make sense of nagging sense of familiarity he got from the man. (It must be his accent. This bloke sounds like he's from Boston, and it's got me thinking of Scout.) He suddenly realized the tourist was looking back at him, and averted his eyes to the ash receptacle on the seat back ahead.

"There somethin' weird on my face, pal?" The other man regarded him uncertainly, holding his precious cigarette firmly between two fingers, as though he were worried the plane's next jolt might take it from him.

Sniper hesitated, then decided that the truth was inoffensive enough that he didn't have to lie. "I keep thinkin' I've seen you before somewhere, but I can't put my finger on it... You know what it's like, it's just this feelin' of dayjuh-voo." He shrugged, giving a sheepish grin for good measure.

At first the other man appeared amused, but when Sniper mangled the foreign phrase, his face twitched. He managed to straighten his expression out after a second and said, "You pronounce that 'd ja-vu'. It's, uh... French, y'know?"

A thought occurred to Sniper, and he felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. (No, I won't bother to say it. Even if I'm right, I'd never get a straight answer out of him.) Instead of pursuing the matter further, he just nodded and said, "Oh, that's how it's pronounced? I'll have to take your word on it, mate- I barely know any French, aside from bad words."

This elicited a snorting chuckle from the tourist. "Everyone starts out with obscenities when they're learnin' a new language. I think that's one of these, uh, universal constants. Y'know, like gravity."

Another bout of turbulence shook the passengers roughly, interrupting any further conversation. By the time it settled, the thin man in the window seat had turned his attention to the sky outside. The silence between them didn't particularly bother Sniper. After he ground his cigarette out in a nearby ash receptacle, he settled back in his chair, finally feeling as though he might be able to doze off for the rest of the flight.


End file.
